


the time is drawing near now (yours to claim it all)

by ariadne_odair



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (spoiler he manages none of those things), BUT THEY GUNNA LEARN, Jealous Merlin, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic Revealed, Protective Arthur, Protective Merlin, Tournaments, don't fall in the love with the prince, don't get kidnappend, don't reveal your magic, he's not going to be jealous either ok, merlin has a list ok, solve the murder plot, they're not very good about talking about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 20:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21203807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_odair/pseuds/ariadne_odair
Summary: Camelot holding a tournament is never good news for Merlin. Visitors to Camelot inevitably mean trouble and when one of those visitors sets their eye on Arthur, Merlin isn’t sure if Arthur is at risk of being seduced or something more ominous.Uncovering a murder plot isn’t nearly as scary as confronting his feelings for Arthur, but at least Merlin hasn’t been kidnapped. Yet. Or revealed his magic to Arthur. Yet.His destiny may have other ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I am so nervous to post this? but also really excited. title is from tarzan because apparently i'm going for consistency with my merlin fics and also because this song suits merlin to a t
> 
> this is fic is going to be multi chapter so this is going to be a bit slow burn but these boys are going to talk about their feelings in a healthy way if it kills them. or me.

Merlin wakes with an uneasy feeling.

It’s still early. Merlin can make out the colour of the sky through the cracks in the window; the horizon is still a bruised mix of blue and purple. Normally, this would be a cause for celebration. It’s still early enough he can steal a few more hours of sleep. Savour the victory of getting to go back to bed. 

But not this time. 

Merlin stares blankly at the wall opposite him. He can’t make anything out but shadows. 

His magic warns him sometimes. His stomach will sink, or the hairs on the back of his neck will stand up. It’s only gotten worse as he’s used his magic more often, used more powerful spells. 

“I don’t need this,” Merlin tells the silent room. 

Predictably, no one answers. Not even the stupid dragon.

“I’m serious,” Merlin yawns. “I don’t need this.”

Merlin listens but there’s no more impending signs of doom. No one bursts through the door, ready to murder Arthur. No stray magical creature that’s decided it wants Arthur for lunch. 

Honestly that just makes it worse. If there is no immediate danger, it just means Merlin has to settle in for some drawn out misery. 

“I really don’t need this,” Merlin mutters for a third time, and pulls the blankets over his head. 

  
  


-

  
  


“Who were you talking to last night?” Gaius asks the next morning.

Merlin doesn’t look up from his porridge. “Myself.”

Gaius doesn’t bat an eyelid. “I see. Was it a meaningful conversation?”

Merlin scrubs at his eyes roughly. They feel gritty. He’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, unable to switch his thoughts off. He’d eventually fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, only to be awakened scarcely an hour later.

“Cryptic,” Merlin answers succinctly. “I’ve got - I had one of those feelings.”

Gaius blinks at him for a moment, before nodding in understanding. “Ah. One of those feelings.”

Merlin stabs at his breakfast with his spoon. “All I know is something is going to happen and it’ll be something bad. Because my life would be less interesting if the ominous feelings were more specific.”

Gaius sighs, nudging Merlin’s bowl. “Eat up, Merlin. If your feeling is correct, you’ll need your strength. But don’t borrow trouble - nothing has happened yet.”

Merlin shoves a few more spoonfuls of porridge in his mouth, before pushing himself to his feet. “I’m off to clean the stables. Arthur has a meeting with his father, so at least I can have some peace and quiet this morning.”

It goes unspoken that he should make the most of it.

  


-

  
  


“How was your meeting with the king?” Merlin asks absentmindedly. 

He doesn’t overly care. If it’s something important he’ll find out soon enough; if not, the king’s third attempt to raise the taxes on the people will only depress him. Arthur has already argued his father down twice on the subject, Merlin has no doubt Arthur will have put up a fight on a third occasion. 

“Oh, nothing important.” Merlin hangs one of Arthur’s shirts in the cupboard. It’s his favourite one on Arthur, a deep blue. Arthur doesn’t wear it enough. “My father was just advising me on the upcoming tournament.”

Merlin frowns. “What do you mean? We just had a tournament.” 

Merlin has his back to Arthur, but he would put money, (admittedly a very small amount as the majority of his wages are sent to his mother), on Arthur rolling his eyes at him. “Merlin, the last tournament was two months ago.”

“Exactly,” Merlin scoffs. “You all showed off enough to last for another half a year.”

“Knights do not show off,” Arthur retorts indignantly. 

“What about crown princes?” Merlin asks innocently. When Arthur doesn’t reply, he looks up. “You’re - you’re joking, right? There isn’t actually another tournament coming up?”

“Yes, I’m lying and this is an elaborate plan that all the castle is in on.” Arthur shakes his head. “What is wrong with you today?"

Merlin groans, heart sinking. Merlin _ hates _tournaments. 

The extra work would be hassle enough. There’s banquets to prepare for, entire rooms to be cleaned, armour to be buffed and polished and neatly stacked in the armoury.

It’s a nightmare.

And that’s not even the worst of it; the thing Merlin hates most about tournaments is _ that, inevitably, there will be an attempt on Arthur’s life. _

It happens every time, without fail. And half the time, it’s not even a magic user! It’s some disgruntled duke who’d be sixty third in line if he offed Arthur. Or some rival king who wants to poison Arthur by slipping nightshade into his bath water. (It happened. It was very awkward. It involved a naked Arthur and a pissed off Merlin lecturing the would be assassin on how _ poison isn’t even administered that way, what the f - ) _

Merlin slams Arthur’s cupboard. “I can’t believe this.”

Arthur is eyeing him like Merlin’s gone insane. “Merlin, I’m not sure what there is to believe - “

“Someone’s going to kill you,” Merlin tells him bluntly.

Arthur’s eyes widen and he scrabbles for his sword. “What? Who?”

Merlin moves over to the bed, stripping the covers angrily. “Someone at the tournament.”

Arthur, who has realised he was reaching for air as his sword is in the armoury, pushes his chair back. “Who at the tournament?”

“Someone.” Merlin shrugs. “I can’t say who.”

Arthur looks shocked. “Merlin, I - look, if someone’s threatening you - “

“They probably will.”

“Is it - is it your mother?”

Merlin pauses in beating the blankets into submission. “My mother?”

Arthur’s face is grave. “Yes.”

Merlin stares at him. “Is my mother going to kill you?”

Arthur gapes at him. Merlin is getting sick of Arthur cycling through every possible expression of shock, so he goes back to his chores. “No! Are they threatening your mother?”

Merlin’s head snaps back up at that. “What? Who is going to threaten my mother?”

“You - Merlin! You make no sense!” Merlin doesn’t deign to comment on that hypocrisy. “Merlin, look - Merlin, put the duvet down!”

Merlin scowls at him. “Why? That’s the opposite of what you’re always telling me to do.”

“Because,” Arthur says through gritted teeth. “I cannot have a conversation with you about my impending assassination whilst you’re beating my sheets to death.”

Merlin does put the sheets down, but he takes his sweet time doing it. For added measure, he snaps, “You’re not the boss of me.”

Arthur’s jaw drops off. “That is literally what I am!”

Even in the mood he’s in, Merlin has just enough common sense to not push Arthur any further. It’s petulant enough that he throws the sheets down in a temper.

Arthur’s breath catches. When he speaks next, there’s a change in his tone. “You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”

It’s the tone he uses when his horse startles; low and coaxing, honey and sugar.

Merlin doesn’t answer. He crosses his arms but the anxiety in his head continues to buzz, so he bites at his thumbnail instead.

“Merlin, don’t - “

Warm hands catch his. Merlin startles, and when he looks up at Arthur, his cheeks are pink. He drops Merlin’s hands like they’re hot coals.

“Merlin,” Arthur says seriously. “What have you heard? How do you know about this? If someone threatened you, I can protect - “

“I don’t know anything!” Merlin exclaims. “Nothing has happened yet, I just know something will - “

Arthur’s face clears and he steps back. “Oh, this is one of your _ feelings _again - “

“Why are you such an _ idiot _!” Merlin shouts.

He regrets it instantly. Arthur’s mouth pulls into a tight, angry line. “Merlin, that is _ enough _.”

For one wild moment, Merlin wants to tell him about the magic. If Arthur knew about the magic he’d understand, he’d understand this wasn’t just a hunch or suspicion or paranoia. That this awful lurching of his stomach is his magic giving Merlin a heads up.

Merlin can never tell him about the magic. 

Merlin lets out a long, shaky breath. He’s angry and frightened and he needs to stop before he says something that’ll get him fired. “I need to take these sheets to the laundry.”

Arthur looks utterly bewildered. He opens his mouth to speak, but there’s several more beats of silence before he does talk. Merlin doesn’t know what Arthur must see in his eyes, but he inclines his head. “Yes, Merlin. You can go.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Merlin manages, and then he’s out of the door.

  
  


-

  


Merlin throws open the doors of Gaius’ chambers with a bang. 

Gaius peers at him over his glasses. “Ah. You heard about the tournament.”

“I heard.” Merlin slams the door shut for emphasis. “About the tournament.”

Gaius puts down the poultice he’d been mixing. “I’m so sorry, Merlin, the King mentioned it to me in passing the other day. I didn’t even think that could be what your feeling was about.”

Merlin storms into the room, slamming his bag down on the table. He’s aware he’s acting like a petulant child, but all the members of the court are allowed to get away with it, so he can, just this once.

“It will be a big tournament,” Gaius adds gravely. “There is to be entertainment, a joust and a ball with a banquet. The King wants to celebrate the change of the season after such a dry summer.”

“Royals make no sense,” Merlin snaps. “It must be nice to have enough money that you can throw an entire banquet because the _ leaves _are now falling.”

Gaius lowers his voice. “Between you and me, that may be the King’s excuse, but I’ve heard there have been rumblings by some of the lords in the outlying villages. They’re not happy about the King’s attempts to raise taxes.”

“So this is a show of strength, as much as it is an attempt at appeasement.” Merlin sighs. “That is Uther’s style.”

Gaius’ silence is an answer in itself.

“Arthur is going to sack me, by the way.”

“Sack you for what? What did you do?”

“Shouted at him.”

“Oh. Arthur won’t sack you for that.” Gaius gives him an arch look. “You’ve done far worse things.”

Merlin sighs unhappily. “I should probably apologise. I was just so - angry. And worried.” Merlin slumps in his seat, resting his head on his arms. “I think he knew it, too, because he wasn’t as much of an arse to me as he could have been. And I called him an idiot.”

Gaius sighs. “Well, was he acting like an idiot?”

“No more than usual,” Merlin groans. Gaius laughs at that, clapping a hand to Merlin’s shoulder. “Things would be so much simpler if I could tell him why I felt this why. If I could explain my magic, my gifts, why I know the things that I do.”

“Simpler for Arthur, but not simpler for you.” Gaius gazes at him seriously. “And far simpler for Uther, who would have you executed on the spot.”

Merlin swallows. “Less simpler for Arthur then. Who to choose, his father or his manservant?” His throat feels tight. “Or maybe that is an easy choice.”

Gaius rests a hand on Merlin’s arm. “One day, Merlin, you will be able to show Arthur the true extent of your powers. Of all the good magic can do, of all the good your magic already has done.”

“One day,” Merlin whispers, and repeats it to himself like an oath. “One day.”

  
  


-

Merlin makes his way to Arthur’s chambers that evening. If he drags his feet a little, well, only he and the cobblestones need to know.

He pushes the door open warily. Arthur is getting ready for bed and he nods at Merlin as he slips into the room. Merlin feels something knock loose in his chest and he nods back.

Arthur, to his relief, acts as if nothing had happened and begins to prattle on about all the chores he’s going to make Merlin do tomorrow. Merlin rolls his eyes in the right places and stokes the fire, so the bedchambers are soon warm and toasty.

“ - and in the afternoon, you can clean the stables - “

“Hey,” Merlin interjects. “I did that today!”

Arthur smirks at him. “I know, _ Merlin _ . I was just seeing whether you were _ listening _.”

“I always listen to your valuable and interesting commentary, Sire,” Merlin lies. 

Arthur snorts in amusement and clambers up onto the bed. He doesn’t get under the covers, however. He’s sitting with his back to the headboard, one knee pulled to his chest and his other leg dangling over the side of the bed.

He’s staring at Merlin. Sometimes, Arthur looks at Merlin like he can see right through him, can see right into Merlin’s core, everything he’s feeling, everything he’s thinking, As if he can see every part of Merlin in startling clarity. 

“Merlin,” Arthur says. “Come here.”

Merlin swallows and doesn’t move.

Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures to the bed. “Just sit _ down _, Merlin.”

Merlin perches on the edge of the bed tentatively. Then he settles into the mattress a little more, because Arthur’s bed is actually really comfy and much nicer than any bed Merlin has ever slept in. 

“Merlin,” Arthur begins pleasantly. Merlin doesn’t trust Pleasant Arthur. It’s like a wolf offering to play fetch, before it bites your hand off. “Why are you convinced the tournament will conclude in my painful and traumatic death?”

Merlin flops back onto the bed, so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Arthur. “Oh, I don’t know, Arthur. Maybe because it happens all the time?”

Arthur scoffs. “Obviously not all the time, or I wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“Yeah, that would be too easy,” Merlin mutters. “Someone just lops your head off and then all my worries are over. Nothing more for me to do. I could move back to Ealdor. Own a farm.”

Arthur prods him in the side with his foot. “Speak up, Merlin. I can’t hear how insolent you’re being when you mutter.”

Merlin shoves his foot away. “Arthur, I had been in Camelot for five minutes and someone in a tournament tried to kill you.They enchanted a shield to turn into _ snakes _.”

“I mean - that’s - “

Merlin speaks over him, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his hand. “I had been in Camelot for ten minutes and you had a tournament to celebrate your birth, for some reason, like, no one needed that - “

“Hey!”

“And an undead knight tried to kill you and then he tried to kill you father as well - “

“That was a special circumstance - “

“And then,” Merlin continues, really getting in his stride now. “You held a banquet, which is relevant to this - “

“I thought we were talking about tournaments.”

Merlin glares at him. “We would be talking about tournaments, if you hadn’t decided to hold a banquet and a ball as well.”

Arthur doesn’t look the slightest bit repentant. Merlin glares at him harder. “And the first banquet I ever went to in Camelot, someone tried to poison you.”

Arthur sighs. “I’ll admit the history isn’t particularly promising. I’ll even admit I have some trepidation about inviting so many different people to Camelot to celebrate.”

“Ha! You’re concerned too!”

“But, Camelot is arguably the safest place for me to be. I’ll have the knights, all my father’s soldiers. There’s guards at every entrance. It’s a lot safer than the times when we camp out in the middle of the forest. You’ve never been worried about that. Well, no more worried than unusual. What makes this any different?”

Merlin says nothing. Arthur heaves a sigh. “I forgot. Your feeling.”

“Don’t tease me,” Merlin utters softly.

Silence falls, covers them like a blanket of snow. Merlin watches the shadows dance across the ceiling. 

Arthur shuffles. “I’m not teasing you. I just don’t see it the way you do.”

The shadows jump as the flames flicker, spread their dark hands across the room. 

Arthur’s voice is gentle. “I will be careful. For you.”

“For me.”

Merlin barely recognises his own voice, low and husky. It feels as though he and Arthur are cocooned in their own world, cradled in the hands of shadows and flames. Just Arthur and him and this bed and all the words left unsaid, suspended in the air like raindrops on a spiderweb. 

He doesn’t ever want to leave. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Camelot has never been so busy.

You can’t take a step without something going on; the cook preparing recipes, the maids preparing the chambers. The entire castle has been cleaned in preparation for the lords from the outlying villages to stay. There are banners everywhere; every colour, every size, hanging from every pillar and every alcove.

If Merlin sees one more scrap of fabric fluttering aesthetically in the wind, he is going to _ scream _. 

The processions begin to steam through Camelot like running water, bright and endless and unstoppable. The children gather in the streets to watch, laughing at the performers and gasping in awe at the knights. 

Merlin is run off his feet; everyone has to pitch him for such a large celebration, and some days he hardly sees Arthur at all. It doesn’t make the fist around his chest loosen any.

Ironically, for how wound up Merlin gets himself, Merlin misses the first night of festivities entirely.

Apparently, a cart got loose in the lower town and there are broken arms and injuries and squished toes to attend to. Merlin is strangely relieved. (The people in the lower town probably don’t share the sentiment.) At least it gets him out of standing behind Arthur for hours and squinting at the foreign dignitaries to work out which one is the most suspicious. 

His last patient is a nice young woman named Emily, who has a sprained wrist. She watches him nervously for a moment, before blurting, “Aren’t you Prince Arthur’s manservant?”

Merlin smiles. “Most of the time. But I’m also apprentice to Gaius, the court physician.”

Emily nods timidly. “I guess - I guess Gaius is at the feast?” When Merlin nods, she continues. “We saw the procession come through the lower town. It was the biggest one I’d ever seen. They had fire eaters.”

“They do have fire eaters. And jugglers, and acrobats, and I’m pretty sure I saw a knife throwing act in there, somewhere.” Merlin realises he’s sounding a bit too bitter, and he flashes Emily a smile he doesn’t feel. “There, you’re all done. It’s not a bad sprain but you’ll need to rest your wrist.”

“Thank you.”

The door to Emily’s small cottage swings open, and another woman with bright auburn hair walks in. Emily waves her forward and Merlin doesn’t miss the way both women's faces light up like the sun when they see each other. “Alice, this is Merlin. Look, he fixed my arm!”

“Are you okay?” Alice asks, inspecting Emily’s arm tentatively. “How did that cart even get loose?”

Emily shrugs. She has curly dark hair like Gwen and it falls over her face. “I don’t know.”

Alice, who up until this point only had eyes for Emily, looks at Merlin properly and does a double take. “You - aren’t you Prince Arthur’s manservant?”

Merlin smiles. “Sometimes.”

He gets to his feet, stretching. “If you have any issues with your wrist, just come up to the castle and me or Gaius will take a look at it. Just ask for the court physician and say that Merlin sent you.”

Alice’s eyes widen. “Thank you. Is this your final visit? Can we walk you to your next patient?”

Merlin shakes his head, gathering up his supplies and placing them in his satchel. “No, you’re my last one. I’m headed back to the castle, now.”

“We’ll walk you,” Alice says instantly. She grabs a cloak off the hook and helps Emily into it. 

Merlin is taken aback by their offer. “Oh, no, I couldn’t - “

“It’s not safe,” Emily warns, wiggling her shoulders into her cloak. Alice steadies her elbow to help her stand. “So much has happened in the past year - well. No one expected a dragon attack, did they? None of us like to walk through the town on our own after dark.” 

Merlin is immeasurably touched by the kindness of two strangers who barely know him. They’re right, too; even with his magic, Merlin has been caught unawares one too many times, by magic users and non-magic users alike. It’s not just rampaging griffons you have to look out for, it’s any of Uther’s men who are drunk and wandering the streets looking for a scrap. 

The knights that are loyal to Arthur would never dream of harming the people of the lower town. Sir Leon is so noble that Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if he had the knight’s code tattooed on his chest. He’ll ask him next time he sees him, just to see if can get Leon to choke on his ale. It’s a running competition between him and the knights, who can get the straight faced Sir Leon to crack. 

Gwaine is the only one who’s managed it so far, but they’ve discounted that, because the rules were clear that certain parts of your anatomy can’t be used.

He walks back to the palace with Emily and Alice, pulling his cloak close around him with the chill. The candles are lit, glowing merrily in the windows of the castle, like they’re inviting them closer. 

Alice and Emily are walking ahead of him. Emily reaches for Alice’s hand, entwining their fingers. 

Merlin sighs and hopes he doesn’t look as wistful as he feels. 

  


-

Merlin may miss the opening night of festivities, but he hears all about it the next morning in the armoury. He’s searching for lances whilst the knights get their armour on. 

Well, they’re supposed to be getting their armour on. Gwaine is walking around shirtless and Percival is eating an apple in only his leathers. Leon, to his credit, is wearing armour so shiny you can see your face in it and ignoring all of them. 

“You missed the entertainment last night,” Gwaine says, clapping him on the shoulder. He then shakes Merlin’s shoulder back and forth, just to be irritating, until Merlin shoves him off. “It was very - diverting.”

Merlin ignores him in favour of looking for the lances. He can’t find them anywhere and Arthur wants to practice jousting. “Well, I guess that’s why they call it entertainment.”

“No - I mean, yes,” Gwaine says, amid Percival’s laughter. “That’s not what I meant. I think the entertainers enjoyed the show as much as the audience did.”

Merlin shoves a shield to the side. “Right. Sounds great.”

Gwaine’s face looks especially odd today; he’s wiggling his eyebrows up and down and his eye keeps twitching. Merlin stares at him. “Are you - is there something in your eye?”

Percival collapses into hysterics. Gwaine gapes at Merlin. “No - “

Merlin stares at him some more. “Are you having a seizure?”

Gwaine glares at him. “No!”

“Just as well,” Merlin shrugs. “I’m not experienced enough to deal with one of those. I’d have to call Gaius and he’s all the way over the other side of the castle.”

Merlin ignores Gwaine’s sputtering in response and finally locates one of the lances. He can only find one for some reason, even though Merlin stacked them neatly last time they were used.

“I think what Gwaine means,” Percival interjects, shoving Gwaine playfully. “Is that one of the performers seemed especially interested in - “

“MERLIN!” Arthur bellows from outside.

“WHAT?” Merlin bellows back.

“WHERE IS MY CROSSBOW?”

Merlin looks down at the lance in his hands. “YOU DIDN’T WANT YOUR CROSSBOW!”

There’s a pause. Then, “DON’T QUESTION THE PRINCE, MERLIN!”

Merlin throws the lance down in disgust. He crosses over the crossbow rack, slinging Arthur’s bow over his shoulder. 

“MERLIN, HURRY UP!”

“BE CLEARER ON WHAT WEAPON YOU WANTED NEXT TIME, THEN!” Merlin yells back. 

He stops in the doorway to turn to Percival, grabbing a handful of bolts for Arthur to use. 

“Sorry, Percival, what were you saying?”

Percival and Gwaine exchange glances, then say as one, “Nothing.”

Merlin blinks at them. “Right. Great. Thanks for that.”

Knights, Merlin thinks as he storms out the armoury. Absolute idiots the lot of them. 

  


-

The entire castle is buzzing in anticipation for the banquet that night; Merlin personally thinks two nights of feasting is excessive, but no one asks his opinion. They just ask him to carry a hundred barrels of ale to the kitchen, so the lords that arrive tonight can get drunk, and the lords that arrived yesterday can drink through today’s hangovers. 

One of the kitchen girls slips Merlin a pie warm from the oven, which he takes gratefully. He sits on one of the counters, swinging his feet and watching all the bustle. It’s like a bee hive, Merlin thinks as he chews his pie. A dozen people, each doing their own job, everyone moving in harmony. 

He sees Gwen slip into the kitchen and he waves her over. “Hello, Gwen.”

“Hello, Merlin. You missed all of the fun last night!”

Merlin shrugs. “I know, it’s all anyone seems to be talking about.”

Gwen takes the piece of pie he offers her. “Well, the troupe of entertainers were very good. Probably the best I’ve seen in Camelot!”

Merlin wrinkles his nose at her. “They can’t be that good, surely? What did they even do?”

“There was a fire eater!” Gwen gushes. “And an acrobat, well, he was a contortionist, too - “

“What did he do?” Merlin interrupts through a mouthful a pie. “Suck his own - “

“Merlin!” Gwen hisses, turning purple. “He - he didn’t - “ 

Gwen trails off. Merlin stares at her when she doesn’t say anything else. “Wait, did he actually - “

“No, Merlin!” Gwen snaps. “He didn’t - do that, obviously. I - I just - he may have - “

Merlin groans. “Gwen, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

Gwen looks absolutely mortified, but also strangely resolute. It’s not a combination Merlin has seen before. “He didn’t do that,” Gwen begins carefully. “But I don’t think he would have been opposed to - “

A large clatter disrupts their conversation; Merlin flinches as one of the younger kitchen boys slips and drops plates everywhere. And Merlin really does mean everywhere; in an abstract way, it’s pretty impressive that one of the plates slides all the way out of the door.

The boy’s bottom lip trembles. Merlin sighs. “Thomas, don’t worry, I’ll help - “

Thomas, who is eight and a half, and currently being stared at by every adult in the kitchen, bursts into tears.

Merlin slides off the counter, conversation with Gwen forgotten. It takes five minutes to calm Thomas down, then double that time to pick up all the dangerously sharp shards that are scattered over the kitchen floor. 

Merlin is then so busy that he forgets all about this mysterious entertainer, until later that evening when he’s suddenly reminded as he’s stood behind Arthur’s chair. In his defence, he had been distracted by how startlingly handsome Arthur looks tonight.

Not that it should be that startling; it’s fact at this point. Uther is an intolerant bigot, Merlin never has enough socks in the winter, Arthur is (literally) a golden haired, blue eyed, handsome prince. 

But tonight Arthur is wearing his golden circlet, nestled in his hair and shining in the glow of the candles. He’s smiling, eyes alight with laughter, scarlet cape swirled behind him. The necklace he always wear is nestled between his collarbones, silver rings on his fingers. 

Merlin’s heart aches in his chest and he has to look away. 

Uther bangs on the table, signalling the start of the entertainment. He welcomes the troupe of performers warmly, voice booming throughout the hall. Merlin thinks about what Gaius said about this being a show of strength, wonders if some of the disgruntled lords are here tonight, watching Uther flaunt his wealth and his knights and his castle. 

Merlin ignores most of the fire eaters and the knife act isn’t that great either. No one bleeds, not even a little, which is just boring in Merlin’s opinion. 

Merlin settles against the brick behind him, has long since perfected the art of looking like he’s standing upright when he’s actually leaning against the wall. He crosses his arms, waiting for Gwen’s acrobat to appear.

You can’t miss him. 

Merlin can’t look away from the acrobatic display; quite frankly, Merlin had no idea people could bend like that. In fact, Merlin is pretty certain that shouldn’t be humanly possible. He’s not sure if he’s jealous or if he wants to grab all his limbs and promise them he’ll never twist them like that.

But the one thing Merlin is certain of, the one thing Merlin can’t look away from, the irrefutable truth on display to the entire banquet hall, is the way the acrobat is shamelessly, undeniably, eye-fucking Arthur. 

There’s no getting away from it. The acrobat is looking at Arthur like he wants to bend him over a table. Or be the one bent over a table, Merlin doesn’t think he’s choosy. Merlin feels like a voyeur just standing here. 

The acrobat is looking at Arthur like he’s a starving man and Arthur is - like. A lot of food. Merlin knows his metaphors are shit, okay, he is currently watching someone attempt to rim someone with only their eyes, he’s a little distressed. 

“What,” Merlin says succinctly, “the fuck.”

Gwen, whose sidled up to Merlin without him noticing, so absorbed is he in the rampant eye sex in front of him, sighs. “I did try to warn you.”

Words fail him. Merlin flails his hands helplessly, in the hopes that Gwen will understand. “Is - am I the only one seeing this?” 

“No.” Gwen covers her mouth with her hand, in amusement or horror, Merlin isn’t sure. “He does seem to have taken a fancy to Arthur, doesn’t he?”

“Taken a - Gwen! He’s undressing him with his eyes - no, actually, I think he’s already imagined Arthur naked. We’re past that, he’s imagining Arthur on his knees - “

“Merlin!” Gwen hisses, though her shoulders are shaking, which means she’s laughing at him. “Not so loud! I did try to warn you, he was this - blatant, last night.”

The acrobat is presently attempting to show Arthur how flexible he is which, spoiler, is very. He’s also giving Arthur a detailed view of his thighs in the skin-tight trousers he’s wearing. 

“I mean it’s not - it could be a lot worse,” Gwen observes critically. “He’s just very - uh. Bendy.”

“Bendy,” Merlin repeats dully.

“And sensual,” Gwen adds. “Very - uh. Sensual.”

Merlin puts his head in his hands. It feels appropriate at this point to cover his eyes. “This is what the knights were trying to warn me about earlier. That one of the performers wants Arthur to - to bang him like a barn door in a hurricane.”

Gwen makes a noise like a dying cat. 

Merlin peers through his fingers. The performance seems to be ending, thank the gods, and now another acrobat has joined the man. A woman this time. They’re doing something complicated and impractical for anyone who can’t dislocate their knee caps.

Gwen clears her throat. “Well, the only bright side is that I don’t think Arthur’s noticed.”

Merlin glances at him. In all fairness, Gwen does appear to be right. Arthur is looking politely interested, but Merlin can also see from here where Arthur is fiddling with the edge of his cape. He’s not actually paying any attention, has just schooled his face to look as though he is, the same expression he wears during boring council meetings or dinners with neighbouring royals.

Merlin narrows his eyes. “I think you’re right. How Arthur could miss that I don’t know, but then Arthur is always totally oblivious to people fancying him. Remember that poor knight from the eastern kingdom?”

“Remember the poetry,” Gwen whispers, and they both shudder. “The poor man.”

The act finishes. Gwen dutifully claps. Merlin does not. “I feel like I need a cold bath.”

Gwen pats his shoulder. “You better keep an eye on that one, Merlin.”

“I never want to see any part of his anatomy, ever again, thank you,” Merlin says flatly, and there’s no containing Gwen’s laughter 

“There is absolutely nothing funny about this,” Merlin tells her, which only makes Gwen laugh harder.

  
  


-

  


Merlin fumes the entire way to Arthur’s chambers. He fumes whilst he fills the bath water, he fumes whilst he lights the fire, he fumes whilst he hangs Arthur’s clothes in Arthur’s unnecessarily large cupboard.

In between his blinding rage, Merlin tries to break down _ why _he’s so angry. It’s not as though others haven’t fancied Arthur before. Princesses and princes mostly, but you do get the occasional servant, or performer, or maid who goes starry eyed over the crown prince of Camelot. It’s not as though Arthur ever returns their advances, always remains polite but impersonal. 

Merlin, in the middle of lighting the candles, comes to the horrifying realisation that he’s not angry, he’s _ jealous. _

The revelation is so jarring that Merlin drops the match he’s holding, which thankfully dies when it hits the floor. It would be really embarrassing to explain to Gaius he burnt Camelot to the ground because someone other than him has a crush on Arthur.

“Please refrain from setting the castle on fire,” Arthur mutters, brushing past Merlin to climb into the bed. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day. I don’t think I can move after two nights of feasting.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Merlin says automatically. His hands shake as he lights the final candle. “No one forced you to eat an entire roast pig.”

Arthur yawns. “Remind me to send you to the stocks in the morning for calling your crown prince fat, _ again. _”

Merlin ignores that and says, super casually because Merlin is very good at being super casual, “What did you think of the performers?”

Arthur shrugs. “A little dull.”

This time, Merlin drops the entire candle. “Dull?”

“Yes.” Arthur props the pillows behind him so he can sit up. “I’m not convinced the knife thrower was even using real knives. And his aim was appalling.”

“The knife thrower?” Merlin says faintly. “You didn’t like the knife thrower.”

“It’s not that I didn’t _ like _him, it was just boring. It’s only interesting if there’s blood - “

“What about the other entertainment?” Merlin interrupts. 

“What other entertainment?”

Gods, Merlin is going to beat him around the head with that pillow. “The other entertainers.”

Arthur turns over his side, closing his eyes. “I haven’t really thought about it. Why do you ask?”

“Can’t I make polite conversation?” 

Arthur, eyes still closed, raises his eyebrows. “Conversation, yes, polite? Meh.”

“Meh isn’t a real word,” Merlin tells him loudly. Arthur falls asleep way too quickly, courtesy of too many nights spent in the forest, or camped out on the battlefield. If he keeps his eyes closed then Merlin is going to lose him. “Arthur. _ Arthur _. What did you - “

“Merlin.” Arthur turns over onto his other side. “I know you are woefully inept at social cues, but is me, in bed, in sleeping clothes, _ with my eyes shut _, not ringing any bells for you?”

Merlin scowls at him. “Yes, Sire. Of course, Sire. I’ll just leave, Sire, shall I?”

Arthur doesn’t even answer. Merlin slams the door on the way out. 

  


-

  


Merlin wakes in a foul mood and he curses to himself all the way to the kitchen. 

He spent all of last night cycling through denial, shock, anger and then back to denial, before finally accepting he does feel jealous. The shock, admittedly, wasn’t very long lived; Merlin isn’t foolish enough to pretend Arthur doesn’t mean everything to him. And not just in a ‘dragon prophecy, save the world, platonic life saving’ way. In a ‘I want to hold your hand and tell you all my secrets’ way, too. 

His romantic feelings for Arthur aren’t exactly a bombshell, but that doesn’t mean Merlin ever has to speak about them out loud.

Honestly, Merlin doesn’t even know why he’s jealous. It’s not like Arthur is going to run off with the acrobat. Probably. Thinking on it, Arthur has done some strange things.

But even if he did - it’s really none of Merlin’s business, because Merlin’s feelings are not reciprocated and therefore Arthur is free to run off with whoever he wants. Merlin has no say in it and he would never act as though he does. That’s not who Merlin is. 

It doesn’t mean he can’t irrationally hate the acrobat in his own head, though.

The kitchens are bustling and Merlin grabs Arthur’s plate from the side. Thomas the kitchen boy smiles at Merlin and tells him proudly he hasn’t dropped any plates today, yet. Merlin smiles back and turns to go, which is when he sees _ him _. 

Merlin doesn’t drop the plate, but it’s a near thing. “Shit.”

Thomas elbows him. It’s an elbow to the hip, because that’s where Thomas comes up to on him. “That’s a bad word.”

Merlin sighs. “Yes, it’s a very bad word. You can only say it about very bad people, okay?”

Thomas looks over to the acrobat who, for no reason Merlin can discern, is sat at one of the kitchen tables, talking to the other servants. “Is he very bad people?”

Merlin ruffles his hair with one hand. “Off you go, Thomas.”

Thomas scampers off and Merlin takes a deep breath. Gwen has wandered into the kitchen and Merlin snags her sleeve. “Gwen! Gwen, what’s he doing here?”

“Who?” Gwen asks in confusion, before her eyes land on the acrobat. “Oh. I don’t know - I imagine to collect his breakfast? All the performers are staying in the servants quarters.” 

Merlin groans. “Of course they are.”

“I did find out his name,” Gwen says.

“Is is something terrible?” Merlin asks hopefully.

Gwen shakes his head. “No, it’s quite ordinary. It’s Archer.”

“Archer,” Merlin repeats. “Thanks, I hate it.”

Gwen sighs. “Come on, let’s go.”

He and Gwen make their way towards the door, but of course that would be too easy. Archer looks up as they pass. He’s a handsome man, hair a deep brown that waves over his forehead. He’s dressed in plain clothes today, (thankfully), but Merlin can tell how muscular he is. Merlin supposes you have to be to be able to do thirteen cartwheels in a row.

Archer, to Merlin’s horror, stands up and begins to walk over to them. Merlin considers just making a straight dash for the door, but that would be a bit too obvious. And he’d probably spill the food everywhere.

“Hello,” Archer greets them. 

“Hello,” Merlin says warily. 

Archer smiles. Merlin resists the urge to kick him in the shin. “You’re the prince’s servant.”

Merlin adjusts his grip on the tray in his arms. “I am.”

Archer smirks. “Did the prince like the display last night?”

Merlin shrugs. “My Lord couldn’t recall your performance. I suppose you weren’t that memorable.”

You could hear a pin drop. Merlin imagines that Gwen is silently cheering.

Archer’s lips twitch, but his eyes don’t lose that smug gleam. “I’ll have to make sure my next performance is extra special, then.”

Merlin can’t think of a witty comeback to that, so he just sighs. “Right. Can’t wait. Let’s go, Gwen.”

It’s a bit anticlimactic, but Merlin could do without all the drama, honestly. He walks straight out, but Gwen keeps glancing back. “He looks really put out.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Like I care. I just couldn’t think of anything clever to say. For once. Don’t tell Arthur.”

That could be the summary of Merlin’s life at Camelot, really; _ don’t tell Arthur. _

  


-

Merlin’s on edge from then on. Arthur has the knights training flat out for the next few days, preparing for the tournament, which will start next week. It’s somewhat of a distraction at least; it’s easy to get lost in sharpening blades and buffing shields. 

Merlin sharpens Arthur’s sword so ferociously that he almost slices his thumb off. Arthur gives him a worried look and takes him off weapons duty after that, has Merlin practice with the shields instead. 

The familiarity of it almost, almost has Merlin relaxing, which is of course when life bites him in the ass.

He and Arthur are bickering on their way back from the practice field. Merlin has a rapidly forming bruise on his arm, from where he lost his footing. Percival had been very apologetic. Arthur, predictably, is teasing Merlin mercilessly about it. 

“It’s because you’re so fragile, Merlin,” Arthur’s saying, mouth split in a wide grin.

His hair is pushed back from his forehead from exertion, hair ruffled and damp with sweat. He has a streak of mud high up on his cheekbone and there’s a small cut on his lip, from where Gwaine managed to get a good (if definitely illegal) hit in.

“I’m not fragile,” Merlin protests. “You’re fragile. You can’t sleep without at least six pillows.”

Arthur doesn’t answer that and changes the subject, which means that Merlin has won the argument. “Let me see the bruise.”

Merlin clutches his arm protectively. “No. You’ll poke it.”

“No, I won’t,” Arthur lies. “Not all of us have the mental age of a ten year old - “

“No, that’s just _ you _.” Arthur reaches for his arm and Merlin pulls it out of his reach. “Arthur, don’t you - “

“Just let me see,” Arthur is ordering, which is when they round the corner and almost stumble straight into Archer.

Merlin isn’t even surprised. He’s sure Archer has been lying in wait this whole time, just biding his time. Like a _ snake _. 

Arthur pulls himself together and tries to look like he wasn’t just behaving like a toddler with his manservant. Merlin does no such thing and glowers at Archer from Arthur’s side.

“Your highness.” Archer actually bows. Merlin is going to vomit. “I am sorry to disturb you.”

“No matter,” Arthur replies, because he can’t admit Archer has interrupted a play fight between the crown prince and his manservant. 

Archer and Merlin realise at the same time that Arthur has no idea who Archer is. Merlin is overjoyed. Archer is not. “Your highness,” Archer begins. “I am one of the travelling troupe. It was an honour to perform for you and the King the other evening.”

Arthur inclines his head. “I much enjoyed the entertainment.”

Archer presses on. “I look forward to performing for his highness again.”

Merlin has no idea how Arthur isn’t picking up what Archer is throwing down; Arthur is surely not so oblivious that he can’t see how Archer is practically salivating. 

Arthur, however, surpasses all of Merlin’s expectations and apparently is that oblivious. He smiles politely at Archer. “And I look forward to seeing it. Now, if you excuse me, I have to change out of my armour.”

Merlin hurries after Arthur. He glances behind, but only once, deciding on this occasion not to be petty. 

Merlin follows Arthur up to his chambers, barely listening as Arthur chatters on. It’s while Merlin’s untying Arthur’s gauntlets, that he blurts, “Arthur, did you really not know who that man was?”

Arthur frowns down at him. “What man?”

“Arthur,” Merlin snaps. “Let’s pretend I’ve said everything twice, so you can stop repeating what I say.”

“You can’t talk to me that way,” Arthur tells him lazily. 

“The performer, you didn’t remember him?” Merlin presses. Gods knows why. It’ll only hurt more if Arthur says he does remember. Merlin just can’t let it go.

“No,” Arthur answers honestly. “You might have thrown my vambrace on the floor, but don’t do the same with my gauntlets. I don’t recall much of the performance.”

Merlin sighs in exasperation. “Well, what were you thinking of?”

“You, mainly,” Arthur replies casually, with the honesty of those taken completely off guard.

He goes very still.

Merlin can only tell because his hands are still wrapped around his forearm. His fingers rest on Arthur’s pulse. Arthur is holding his body perfectly still, like a deer caught in the gaze of a hunter. 

“Me?” Merlin repeats suspiciously. “Why were you thinking about me?”

Arthur isn’t looking at him. It’s so quiet. Merlin is acutely aware of how close they are, Merlin’s hands on Arthur’s wrist, Arthur’s body angled towards his. 

“I was thinking,” Arthur says quietly. “About what you said about the first tournament, when Valiant enchanted his shield. It seems so long ago. It feels like hardly any time at all since we first met.”

Something catches in Merlin’s throat. “I hadn’t realised either.”

There’s something in the air between them, something soft and tentative, like spun sugar. Merlin doesn’t dare break it, doesn’t dare speak, as if words would shatter the golden threads that bind them together.

Arthur clicks his fingers. “I know what this is about.”

The moment shatters. Merlin jerks his head back in alarm. “You know - “

Arthur smirks at him. “You asked me about this before.”

Merlin swallows nervously. “I don’t know - “

Arthur interrupts him triumphantly. “You think the acrobat is going to kill me!”

Merlin is so relieved that he laughs. “I don’t think - “ His stomach suddenly drops. “Oh my god, the acrobat.”

Arthur is laughing now, stepping away from him. He places his gauntlets neatly on the side. “This is why you asked me about it after the feast!”

How could Merlin have been so stupid? It’s been right in front of him the whole time. “The acrobat is going to kill you.”

Arthur is changing into a clean shirt, which is not fair because it means Merlin is distracted by the appearance of Arthur’s pectoral muscles. He’s also receiving the topic of his murder with hilarity. “I can’t believe you think a costumed performer is going to - “

Merlin runs a frantic hand through his hair. “This is awful. I’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees. He has a shirt on now, Merlin’s lizard brain notes. “You have been looking at this all wrong. This is absolutely no way an acrobat is going to murder me.”

“This is perfect,” Merlin moans. “Everyone thinks he just wants to - get in your trousers, when actually - “

“Wait, what?” Arthur abruptly stops laughing. “You thought he wanted to what?”

“Don’t worry, that’s an old theory,” Merlin dismisses. “How are we going to stop your assassination, that’s the new focus.” 

Arthur’s mouth is hanging open. “Merlin, you thought he - “

“Not just me. Most of Camelot reckons he’d - “

Arthur moans, clasping his hands over his ears. “I can’t listen to anything more from your brain. Go - actually, I don’t care where you go. Have the afternoon off.”

Merlin baulks. “What? Oh. Thank you. But if I have the afternoon, we can prepare for - “

Arthur walks over to him and grabs him by the shoulders. “Goodbye, Merlin.” He propels Merlin from the room, half dragging him. “That’s enough lunacy for one morning. I’ll see you later.”

“But I - “

The door swings shut. Merlin is left staring at the oak frame, Arthur on one side and Merlin trapped on the other. 

  


-

In hindsight, Merlin should have recognised it from the beginning.

It’s the perfect alibi. Fake an infatuation with the prince and suddenly it’s less creepy that you’re watching his sword practice, or loitering outside his chambers, (which Merlin has caught Archer doing twice). Your actions are attributed to a love sick, if slightly extreme, crush, not latent homicidal tendencies.

(Not that Archer having a crush on Arthur would make stalking him anymore acceptable. Arthur is still a _ person _; the golden circlet on his head doesn’t mean he’s free game to be ogled and harassed and followed around.)

It’s not even a new tactic. Merlin can name at least three princesses who used love enchantments as a tool to get Arthur where they wanted. Which incidentally was the marriage bed, not the grave, but it’s the same sentiment. 

Thankfully, the entertainers won’t perform again until the tournament begins. Merlin has been spared any further rotating hips and oddly sexual cartwheels. He can breathe easier knowing all he has to look at is the back of Arthur’s head. The slope of his shoulders, the ends of his hair, the leather cord that knots at the back of Arthur’s neck. 

It’s only a small reprieve, however, when Merlin arrives at Gaius’ chambers one evening to find Archer sat at the table.

“You!” Merlin hisses. He’s aware he sounds like a protagonist in those romance novels Gwen pretends she doesn’t read, but Archer seems determined to act like one of the villains. “What are you doing here?”

Archer arches an eyebrow. “I twisted my ankle, Gaius was just icing it for me.”

“Of course you did,” Merlin seethes.

Archer just smirks at him. He thanks Gaius as he leaves, shoving past Merlin and banging his shoulder.

Merlin whips around as soon as the door closes. “That man wants to kill Arthur!”

Gaius takes a moment to answer. “I don’t think he wants to _ kill _him.”

“Gaius!” Merlin yelps. “Firstly, you’re like - you’re like my father!”

Gaius sighs. “Believe me, it is not something I wish to contemplate either.”

“Not you too,” Merlin groans. “Why does no one believe me?”

“He was quite - blatant in what he what he did want to do,” Gaius answers delicately. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to prepare supper and try to forget this entire conversation. I’ll need you to pick some herbs for me later this evening. I used the last of them treating Archer’s ankle, and the tournament begins tomorrow. There will doubtless be more injuries to attend to.”

“What about a murder?” Merlin mutters. “Got any herbs for that?”

  


-

He heads out that evening to collect the herbs for Gaius, cloak pulled firmly about him. It’s only getting colder, his breath curling in front of him like mist. Merlin is so deep in his thoughts he doesn’t notice the footsteps behind, or the branch that cracks below a heavy boot.

He does notice the blow to the head, but that by that point it’s too late.

Merlin has just enough time to think _ I told you so _, before everything goes black. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning - there is some violence in this chapter. It is not described in detail, (mainly a sentence of description), and Archer threatens to torture Merlin, but these are only threats. (Merlin does not get tortured, not on my watch.)
> 
> I just wanted to give people a heads up. It's really not graphic at all and it's in line with the story lines on the show of the latest baddie attacking/latest quest/latest battle.

Merlin’s head _ really _hurts.

He wishes he could just stay unconscious, but his brain has other plans. It’s determined to remind him very loudly of the overwhelming pain he’s in.

Merlin groans, blinking blearily. His head is pounding, sharp bursts of pain that make him suck in a breath. He touches his temple cautiously, wincing as his fingers brush against dried blood. 

He struggles to sit up. His hands are bound behind his back, as are his feet. Whoever tied them did a poor job. Merlin could probably twist his wrists free if he was prepared to invest a little time and a sprained thumb.

His vision swims into focus. He’s been thrown haphazardly to the floor of an empty cellar. There’s a heavy, bolted door. A weak stream of light filters through the only window, but it’s high above the rafters. Merlin can tell from here that it’d be much too small to try and escape through.

Merlin pushes himself upright. His back scrapes painfully against the cold stone. 

It’s not the first time he’s been kidnapped. It’s not even the _ third _. Merlin doesn’t like, pencil it into his agenda, but it does happen with alarming regularity. Last month, someone kidnapped Merlin and Gwaine at the same time. Or tried to. Gwaine just laughed for a full five minutes before bashing the bandits over the head with his sword.

It’s an occupational hazard of following around a group of knights. They’re constantly pissing off packs of bandits, or rival kingdoms, or the occasional warlord. Sometimes it ends in a fight and sometimes it ends with you in a dirty cell, with too many bruises and Gwaine singing way too loudly in your ear.

Merlin shuffles uncomfortably. It’s not the first time he’s been captured by the enemy, (and Camelot has a lot of those). But it’s the first time in a while that it’s just been him in big trouble. Merlin on his own, trapped in this room, alone and cold and with his hairline matted with blood.

The door screeches open. Merlin’s head snaps up, flinching at the sudden flow of light. Archer is stood there, silhouetted in the door. 

“Ha!” Merlin snaps. “I knew it was you!”

Archer rolls his eyes. He walks over to Merlin, crouching down beside him. He’s not smirking anymore. “Yes, you’re very clever.”

There’s no more seductive drawl. Now Archer just sounds flat. Emotionless. Merlin fights the shiver that dances over his spine. “You know I’m not Arthur, right?”

For a moment that emotionless mask slips. Merlin congratulates himself on the flash of irritation in Archer’s eyes. “Just checking. Someone tried to kidnap Sir Leon last year, mistaking him for the crown prince. It was hilarious. For Sir Leon. Not for the kidnapper in question.”

Merlin isn’t expecting the hit. In hindsight, he probably should have been, but hindsight is little comfort to Merlin’s now smarting cheek. Archer’s ring has cut his lip. When Merlin parts his mouth, he can taste the tang of iron.

Merlin glares at Archer. “Did you just kidnap me to knock me around a little? Because I really can’t see why else I would be here.”

Archer purses his lips. “That’s just an added bonus. You’re not here to be a punching bag.” Archer smirks, but this time it’s cold, cut throat. “You’re here as bait.”

It takes Merlin a few seconds to process that. “Bait? For who? Who do you think is going to be looking for me?”

Archer just keeps smirking. “I could think of a few royals.”

Merlin is so surprised that he laughs. “That’s what you’re banking on? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m just a _ servant _. I doubt anyone’s even noticed I’ve gone, yet.” 

That’s only a slight lie, Gaius will have noticed. Though only if Arthur says anything - Gaius might just assume Merlin is with Arthur, otherwise. Destiny aside, Merlin really is most commonly found by Arthur’s side.

Archer keeps looking at him with that level stare. “Really.”

Merlin can’t understand what Archer is getting at. “Yes, _ really. _You think Uther knows how many servants there are in the castle? You could kidnap ten more servants and he’d never notice!”

“Uther isn’t the one I’m relying on.”

“Who is - what, Arthur? Arthur won’t have even realised I’ve gone! He has a dozen servants waiting in the wings to take my place! He’ll just assume I’m in the tavern!” Merlin shakes his head. “There’s nothing special about me.”

Archer sighs, like Merlin is a silly child who hasn’t quite _ got it _ yet. “The thing about servants, Merlin, is that they know more about a castle than any of the people that rule it.”

“A bit off topic,” Merlin comments. “But continue.”

He really should stop provoking Archer, because his lip is now truly split and the blood is slipping down his chin. There’s a tiny coil of fear in Merlin’s stomach and if he lets it unravel, he’ll start panicking. It doesn’t help that his magic is thundering like a heart beat; that awful feeling is back in full force, every hair on the back of his neck standing up. 

“Servants know everything, see everything. And they love to gossip. And what the servants in Camelot really love to gossip about is a certain crown Prince and his manservant, and the strange level of devotion between them.”

Merlin swallows. “Devotion is a bit far. I mean, I’ll admit he’s a looker, but I do have to wash his socks.”

“Does every Prince defy his father - the _ King _\- to save his servant’s life?” Archer asks mildly. Merlin snaps his mouth shut. Archer looks at him coolly, calmly, a spider idly watching a struggling fly. “That did happen, didn’t it? He’d barely known you a week and he was sneaking out of the castle to save your life. Got thrown in the dungeon for it, or so I heard. Did Arthur really think anyone would miss the guards throwing him in the cells? And all for a servant.”

Merlin’s hands are trembling. “Arthur is noble. He’d - he’d do that for anyone. He cares about his people.”

“Hm, but he cares about you more than most, doesn’t he?” Archer wonders aloud. “He rode to Ealdor to save your pitiful village. That’s not just nobility, that could have been an act of _ war _ . Essetir isn’t Arthur’s to rule. Trespassing on another kingdom’s lands, interfering in their affairs. Fighting in a _ battle _.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Do you think no one notices? That no one sees you leave the castle, that Arthur’s horses are missing, his amour? From what I hear Arthur isn’t shy of defending you. By all accounts you are a truly terrible servant, yet Arthur turns down the option of another, saying he prefers you. George was quite upset about that. A couple of ales and he is quite the ranter. Besides, I hadn’t stepped foot in Camelot for several years before the tournament. The news of a tiny village in Essetir defeating Kanen and his bandits spreads around more than just one kingdom.”

“Nobility only goes so far, Merlin. And, as you've so helpfully pointed out, servants are ten to a penny.” Archer shrugs. “Some of the others reckon you’re just a really good fuck. I’m partial to a love potion, myself.”

“I’m not enchanting Arthur,” Merlin hisses. 

“No, but Gaius would know how to, wouldn’t he?” Archer says harshly. “There are those that remember the days before the Great Purge. And you are his apprentice. It’s not something I’m going to risk. Richard, get in here!”

Another man shoves past the door. He must be ‘Richard.’ Merlin knew that this wasn’t a one man operation, not with how increasingly clear it is that this has all been planned out. Richard is tall and hulking. Merlin doesn’t recognise him as one of the performers. 

They grab Merlin before he can even resist. Merlin tries to fight back but it happens too quickly, unaided by Merlin’s throbbing head and how exhausted he’s feeling. Archer pulls Merlin’s arms forward harshly, snapping the rope binding them. Before Merlin can blink, a pair of handcuffs are being snapped over his wrists. 

“I don’t think you’re a sorcerer,” Archer hums. “But gods know what Gaius may have taught you.”

And with that, he snaps the cuffs shut.

It takes everything in Merlin not to react. For a moment, he’s being dunked under ice, shoved below frozen water. It thunders in his ears, engulfs his chest and claws at his throat. When he breaks for air, he can breathe, it’s _ bearable _, but there’s a steady, insurmountable pressure over his heart. 

“The cuffs prevents any use of magic. You don’t want to know where I got them.” Archer slaps his thighs, climbing to his feet. 

Merlin huddles against the wall, staring at his hands. He can’t speak. 

Archer whistles, turning to leave the room. “Arthur is going to come for you, Merlin. And when he does, we’re going to kill him.”

He slams the door as he leaves and it rings through the cell with a terrible finality. 

  


-

Merlin doesn’t recall a lot of that first hour. 

It passes in flashes. The scent of blood. The heavy weight of iron, a cold brand around his wrists. His thoughts, skittish and ephemeral, like ghosts slipping through the cracks of his mind. 

He pulls himself together after a little while. Too long, probably, but it’s not as though anyone is counting the minutes. It’s not as though anyone is coming for him. Please don’t let anyone be coming for him, please don’t let Arthur - 

Merlin struggles upright. It’s awkward with the shackles, but he manages to pull his feet beneath him, so he’s sat cross legged with his head against the wall. Merlin lifts the shackles up, peering at them.

They look just like normal cuffs; thick, dull iron. There’s a chain link attaching them together, but it’s not too tight that Merlin can’t move a little. If he looks closely, there are small etchings on the underside of the bands. 

It takes some awkward manoeuvring, but Merlin finally twists his wrist enough that he can see the markings a little closer. They look like druid markings, but they’re so small that Merlin couldn’t say for sure. Merlin has no idea where Archer got them from. _ Who _he would have got them from. 

He can still feel his magic, but it’s muffled. Muted. Like dunking your head under water, all your senses dimmed and confused. Like a dream, where you know you’re dreaming but can’t quite get yourself to wake up. It’s still there, which is a relief, but Merlin can’t _ reach _it. 

It’s terrifying. 

Merlin feels blinkered, lost. As though someone’s cut out a part of him, as though he’s barely treading water and if he misses one step he’ll drown. Merlin was born of magic, is _ made _of magic, he doesn’t know how to exist without it there, ready, at his fingertips. 

If he thinks about it anymore he’ll have a panic attack. And that will be precisely zero help, so Merlin isn’t going to do that. He’s going to - he’s going to think like Arthur, like Leon, and work out how to get out of here.

Merlin’s first job is to work out how injured he is. He can’t reach his head, not with how awkward the cuffs are, but he can brush his lip. It stings painfully and when he looks at his fingers, they’re stained with scarlet. He doesn’t think the cut is too deep. He’s more worried about a possible head wound, but there’s no way he can address that now, so he moves onto the next thing. 

There are a handful of rocks in the corner of the room. Merlin is certain now that this used to be a cellar of some sort, perhaps to keep barrels of ale, or food. The door is heavily barred and the ground is rough gravel. 

Merlin picks a rock and grasps it cumbersomely in one hand. Cautiously, he scrapes a wobbly line into the wall closest to him. 

There. It’s definitely been one day at least. It was night when Merlin was knocked out. The light from the window would suggest it’s late evening. When it falls dark again, he can scrape another line. 

Merlin has a good look around the cellar, but there’s no obvious escape routes. He even tries the door for good measure. Some people who invade Camelot are _ total _idiots, so really it’s worth a try. It doesn’t open, though. Obviously these kidnappers do have more than one brain cell between them. 

A long time ago, Arthur had taught him what to do if Merlin was ever kidnapped. It was after the fight in Ealdor. Merlin isn’t sure what prompted it, whether Arthur had finally realised Merlin was sticking around, or whether seeing Merlin in armour had reminded Arthur that Merlin wasn’t a real knight, didn’t have the training the other knights did. 

Merlin wasn’t sure what had caused it, but Arthur had pulled him aside a week or so after the return from Ealdor. He had drilled into Merlin the basics, looking for exits, noting your surroundings, any clues that could help. Attend your injuries first, don’t piss off your captors anymore than you need to. Be smart about it, Merlin, you’re not going to be able to fight your way out, so just _ do what they say _.

Merlin can hear Arthur’s voice in his head like it was yesterday. _ Try and keep track of time. Don’t panic. It may be frightening, but that’s how your captors want you to feel. Don’t let your mind do their job for them. _

That must be over a year ago now. Merlin was so young. So uncertain. He remembers asking Arthur, _ “Am I likely to be kidnapped then?” _

He remembers Arthur shrugging in response. He’d looked away, muscle ticking in his jaw. “_ You’re the manservant to the crown Prince of Camelot. They’re hoping you’ll betray me and sell them all my secrets.” _

_ “You don’t have any secrets, you’re boring as anything,” Merlin had replied, far softer than the contents of that sentence would suggest, and that had been the end of that. _

It seems like a lifetime ago. Merlin feels like a different person now. Both he and Arthur are. 

Merlin walks around the cellar a bit to keep his strength up, because that’s what Arthur would tell him to do. That gets boring after a while though, and Merlin isn’t really one for exercise, so after a few minutes he flops to the floor. 

It’s got progressively darker and he can barely see anything. Merlin curls up on his side, handcuffs pulled uncomfortably to his chest. He tries to reach his magic, but it remains elusive, far away and disembodied, like smoke curling towards the sky. 

-

  


The second day of being kidnapped is pretty boring. 

Merlin scrapes another line on the wall when he wakes up. His joints are stiff, his muscles aching painfully. There’s gravel in his hair from sleeping on the floor and he shakes his head, dislodging it. 

He spends the rest of the day staring at the wall. Sometimes he paces. He does another check of the cellar incase a portal to Camelot has opened up, but he finds nothing. 

Around midday, the door screeches open. Merlin jumps to his feet, but someone throws something into the room, before slamming it shut again. On inspection, it appears to be a hunk of bread and a flask of water. Merlin hesitantly drinks some of the water, careful not to waste it. The bread is meagre, the stale end of a loaf.

Merlin isn’t sure he should eat it, but it doesn’t look obviously poisoned and he’s hungry. He eats that slowly, too. There’s no point saving the bread, given the state it’s in, but he does try to make it last.

There are no other visitors. No Arthur crashing in to save him, which is a blessing in Merlin’s eyes. He still knows so little about his captors, what they’re capable of. What their shitty villain backstory/motivation is. They have obviously planned this out. 

The shackles are heavy. His wrists are starting to ache. 

Merlin is not going to cry on only his second day of captivity, because that would be pathetic.

-

Things spice up on the third day.

This is down to two reasons. One, Merlin’s kidnappers come and have a chat with him. Two, Merlin bypasses pathetic and tearful and goes straight to absolutely fucking furious. 

Merlin has just created the masterpiece of wobbly line Number Three, when the door swings open. Merlin considers using the rock in his hands to throw at his captor, but his aim is shit and he wants to save that for later, when he’s really desperate. 

Merlin drops the rock and scowls at the intruder. It’s another man, tall and dark haired. “I recognise you,” Merlin tells him suspiciously.

The man roughly pushes him to the ground, which was unnecessary and just an excuse to act like a dick. He stands above Merlin, scowling down at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re the knife thrower,” Merlin realises. “Your aim was shit, by the way. Even the crown Prince thought so.”

The other man smirks. “I’m not really a knife thrower.”

“What a surprise,” Merlin mutters. 

He gets a kick to the leg for that. “Your Prince hasn’t been to save you, yet.”

“Yes, I had noticed.”

“Why hasn’t he come?”

“I told your other friend, Arthur isn’t going to come for me! I’m just a servant. He’s won't even notice I’m gone!” Merlin draws his legs to his chest before he can be kicked again. “So you might as well just let me go, we can forget this ever happened and I can get this blood out of my hair, because it really itches.”

The knife thrower - or not knife thrower - levels him with a look. 

“If Arthur doesn’t come for you in two days, we’re not going to let you go. We’ll just torture you for information and use that to kill Arthur, anyway.”

Merlin swallows. “Right. Good to think ahead. You know I’m really not used to dealing with criminals that actually have a backup plan.” Merlin tries to spread his hands but ends up just jangling the chains. “Honestly, you’re a lot less idiotic than you all look.”

The look on his face is almost, almost worth the kick to his ribs.

-

On day four, Merlin decides he is fed up of being kidnapped and decides to Do Something About It. 

Not being able to use his magic is really starting to get to him. His body knows something is wrong, can tell his magic isn’t meant to be kept trapped away. It’s like the start of a fever; Merlin can barely sleep, jolting awake at the slightest noise. He feels hot, dizzy. There’s an undercurrent in his blood, something building and threatening to drag him under. 

Merlin is starting to think that if _ he _can’t break his magic free, his magic will do it for him. 

There’s no way he can break the cuffs off. They’re too thick and too heavy. The iron is starting to scrape at the skin of his wrists, smarting painfully. He can’t yank his wrists out, not unless he wants to break every bone in his hand. 

He can do something about the chain linking them, though. If he can break the chain he would at least have a bit more freedom of movement. Merlin spends the morning sharpening a rock against the wall. He has to whittle it quietly; he doesn’t want anyone to hear. 

He figures if he can sharpen the rock enough, he’ll be able to hack away at the chains. Perhaps hold the rock in his knees and drag the chain back and forth, rubbing away at the chain and hopefully causing it to break. 

Loud footsteps pound outside and Merlin quickly hides his rock, lying down on his side, so it looks like he’s been sleeping.

Archer is standing in the doorway. Merlin, just to be insolent, closes his eyes and pretends he’s sleeping. 

“The servants have already spread the rumours of your disappearance,” Archer begins. “Gwen, is it? She seemed quite concerned when you didn’t shown for your morning duties for the third day in a row. Arthur is pitching quite the fit.”

Merlin lets out a very fake snore. 

“The tournament has begun, you know.” Merlin can’t help flinching at that. “The Prince was so distracted that I thought he was going to fall off his horse.”

“You’re lying,” Merlin snaps, before he can help it. “Arthur is an excellent horseman.”

Archer inclines his head. “I admit that wasn’t true. Your Prince has done very well so far. Anyone could see how worried he is for you, though. Even without all the life saving stunts, just the looks you two give each other would be a dead giveaway.”

Merlin sits up, scowling at him. “We don’t give each other looks! You’re mad, you have this whole situation wrong and you’re going to look really stupid when your plan doesn’t work.”

Archer shakes his head. “I won’t look stupid. You, however, will have the skin flayed from your back.”

Fear spikes in his chest. Merlin fights to keep it down. “Right. Torture. Plan B.”

“Plan B. I’m sure as manservant to the Prince you have a lot of information that would be worth my time.”

“If you’re going to threaten me with torture, you at least owe me your villainous backstory,” Merlin argues. It’s partly to keep him talking, to distract Merlin from this terrible situation. It’s partly to find out as much as he can to stop this man from ever hurting Arthur. “Come on. There always is one.”

Archer tells him, like Merlin knew he would. The bad guys always want to tell you their tragic backstory. They always want to justify their actions, put the blame on someone else, try and explain themselves. 

Merlin never buys it. He almost finds it sad. Awful things have happened to many people, especially at Uther’s hands, but that doesn’t mean you have to be awful too. Lots of people suffer terrible, terrible things, and choose to be kind and gentle and good, to never let it happen to anyone else. 

“Uther murdered my parents,” Archer tells him. It’s said simply, without any emotion. Routine. Merlin is a little concerned Archer is potentially an utter psychopath. “They weren’t even sorcerers. They had no magic. But during the Great Purge, Uther didn’t care whether people were guilty or innocent. There was a sorcerer in our village and Uther was so mad - so insane with fear, that he wiped the entire village out. Every man and woman. He was convinced the magic had spread, that they were all infected.”

“I went to stay with my Uncle, away from Camelot. I didn’t find out the truth until much later. And I knew then that as Uther had killed my parents, I would kill his son.”

Silence falls after Archer’s story. 

After a moment, Merlin begins to slow clap. 

Archer’s head jerks up. “What are you - “

“Uther murdered innocent people,” Merlin says, still clapping. “So you’re also going to torture one innocent person and murder the other. Can you see how you’re not quite taking the moral high road here?”

Merlin’s head snaps to the side with the force of Archer’s punch. His vision swims. The scab on his lip begins to bleed again, Merlin can feel it crack open. “I’m sorry that Uther killed your parents, I am. And I know he has done terrible, awful things. But if you murder Arthur - if you murder a young man, who has never harmed you, who has done _ nothing _, then you are no better.”

Archer looks furious now; anger twists his handsome face into a cruel mask. “Uther deserves to pay for what he has done! He deserves to know what it feels like. Death is too good for him. I am going to take the one thing he cares about.” 

“You lay one hand on Arthur,” Merlin spits, “and I’ll - “

“You’ll what?” Archer snarls. “As you keep saying, you’re a _ servant _. How are you going to stop me?”

“You’re not going to hurt him,” Merlin repeats, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “I won’t let you, you’ll have to go through me first.”

Archer waves a hand dismissively. “You mean nothing to Uther, you’ll only get hurt if you get in the way.”

“You’ve already kidnapped me and threatened me with torture!”

Archer shrugs. “I’m only going to torture you if Arthur doesn’t turn up.”

In that instant, Merlin is so overwhelmed with anger, so furious that someone would threaten Arthur, he forgets about his fear. He forgets about his bleeding lip and the bruise blooming on his cheek, the relentless drag of hunger and thirst and exhaustion.

“You lay one hand on him,” Merlin repeats, hands balling into fists. “And it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

There’s a surge of momentum, a pulse of something in his veins. For a second, he swears he can feel the ghost of his magic, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He can’t be sure he didn’t imagine it.

Archer just laughs. “We’ll see. Get some sleep, Merlin. If your Prince isn’t here by tomorrow, it’s not going to be a good day for you.”

“You know what? You better hope he doesn’t show,” Merlin seethes. “Arthur could take you apart in a second - you don’t stand a chance against him. I’m guessing that’s why you’ve lured him out here? Trying to get him on his own, like a coward. You know you wouldn’t even get close to him in the castle.”

“I’m not going to attack him in full view of the King, his knights and the entirety of the castle - “

“You won’t win,” Merlin spits. “Arthur is going to eviscerate you.”

Archer just bares his teeth in a pale imitation of a smile. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“See you tomorrow!” Merlin shouts at his retreating back. “And your villain backstory was shit! I’ve heard it too many times, unoriginal as fu - “

-

Merlin cries that night. 

He’s due a cry by now. Gaius says crying is cathartic and Merlin always feels better after he’s let everything out. 

Merlin curls up against the wall, horrible, clunky cuffs pressed to his chest. He cries quietly, chest shaking as he sobs. Tears run down his cheeks and he sniffs, lifting his sleeve in an attempt to wipe his face.

“Forbearnan,” he whispers desperately. “Forbearnan, forbearnan.”

Nothing happens. Merlin shuts his eyes tightly, his whole body trembling. 

He’s truly lost. If Arthur doesn’t come tomorrow, they’ll torture him. Merlin’s best bet is that they’ll take the cuffs off, but he’s not holding out much hope. He’s been trying not to think about it, which is easier if he lets the fear for Arthur’s life consume him instead. 

If Arthur does come to save him tomorrow, Archer is going to try and kill him. There’s absolutely no way Uther will let Arthur leave the tournament to launch a rescue mission, so Arthur will either come alone or with only a handful of men.

Because Merlin knows, with absolute certainty, knows right down to his bones, that Arthur is going to come for him eventually. 

For all his bravado to Archer, Merlin knows Arthur will come. Even if he doesn’t realise Merlin is gone right away, even if he thinks Merlin is currently on a binge at the tavern, the moment he realises Merlin has been taken by force, he’ll come for him.

The worst thing about everything Archer said, is that it’s true. Not the implication that Arthur has _ feelings _for Merlin, but all the times Arthur has saved his life before. Defied his father to retrieve the antidote when he was poisoned, told Merlin to flee when Uther’s troll of a fiancee was on the warpath. Travelled all the way to Essetir to fight beside Merlin for once. 

Arthur doesn’t leave his people behind and he won’t this time. He’s done it for Merlin, for Gwen, for Gaius. There is absolutely no way Arthur will let this injustice stand, and honestly Uther forbidding it will just make Arthur more likely to charge off on his own regardless. 

Merlin isn’t going to tell Archer any of this, of course, doesn’t want to give him anymore ammunition. But everything he’s said about Arthur not caring, that Arthur isn’t going to lift a finger when he hears the news, well. Add it to the long list of lies that Merlin has told.

Arthur is going to come and rescue him and it’s only a question of when. 

And what state Merlin is in when he gets there. 

-

Mark number five stares back at Merlin, stark and unforgiving.

Merlin scowls at it. His lines on the wall have gotten progressively better after five days here. His fifth line is almost completely straight. 

His stomach grumbles unhappily. All the blood had rushed to his head when he’d sat up this morning. It’d taken some time for the dizziness to pass, for his stomach to settle. Nausea still clings to him, a headache hovering behind his eyes.

He’s sharpened his rock and he clutches it now in his left hand. He’d tried to saw through the chains, but they’d been too thick. So now the rock serves as his own weapon. He has a hazy plan of using it knock Archer out, before making a dash for it. Never mind that he feels as wobbly as a newborn lamb, never mind that Archer would have to be in spitting distance for Merlin to be able to manoeuvre his chained hands. 

The buzzing in his blood is back. He still can’t feel his magic, it’s still beyond his grasp, but he gets the impression his magic isn’t happy about it. Magic isn’t supposed to be stored in a person, locked away and unused. Merlin feels like a grenade, gunpowder ready to be set alight. 

He doesn’t have to wait long. It’s after his daily gesture of hospitality, tepid water and some crackers today, that the door opens.

Merlin keeps his fist wrapped around his rock, angling his body so the shadows hide what’s in his hand.

“Good morning,” Archer greets cheerfully. “Prince Arthur still hasn’t arrived. And you know what that means.”

He walks over to Merlin, boots kicking up dust. Merlin curls in on himself protectively, so it looks like he’s huddling over, but really he’s moving his hand further out of sight. Archer tsks, like Merlin is a naughty child. “None of that. It’s nothing personal. But we’re on a tight timescale here. Either you’re useful or you’re not.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Merlin says, proud of how his voice doesn’t tremble. “You can be better than Uther. You don’t have to hurt people like he did.”

“That’s not going to work,” Archer sighs. “Those big doe eyes might work on Arthur, but they’re not going to work on me. Come on, get up.” He grasps Merlin’s right arm, scowling when Merlin jerks away. “Enough, unless you want me to - “

There’s a sudden, loud clatter. Both Archer and Merlin freeze. Another thump, then the sound of footsteps. Archer’s eyes widen in delight. Merlin is going to be sick. “Well, well, well. Look who might have turned up after all.”

“Leave him out of this.” Merlin wrestles his arm out Archer’s reach. “I swear to the gods, if you - “ 

“Another word and I’ll drag you out of here,” Archer threatens. He grabs Merlin’s arm roughly, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise. “I - “

There’s another loud clatter, then the sound of raised voices. Archer frowns in irritation, twisting towards the door. “Richard! What’s going on - “

Merlin lunges forward and smashes the rock into Archer’s head. It’s a terrible hit, Merlin is clumsy with the cuffs and he’s weak from hunger and exhaustion. It catches Archer’s temple, however, and adrenaline means he lands a pretty solid blow. Archer is cut off mid-shout, crumpling to the floor. 

Merlin stares at Archer’s prone body, scarcely believing his luck. Fear holds him in place, before instinct kicks in and he scrambles to his feet. He almost tips straight over with the weight of the cuffs. His feet slide beneath him but he manages to regain his balance. He scoops his stone off the floor, just in case.

Merlin makes his way to the door, grasping its handle to steady him. He has enough sense to peer around the frame, instead of just running straight out. There’s a corridor in front of him and it’s completely empty.

Merlin takes a deep breath and then he _ runs. _

It’s really difficult to run with the cuffs tying his hands together. Merlin feels awkward and off balance. He has to stop and catch his breath, disoriented and weak from exertion. His head is pounding. 

As far as Merlin can tell he’s in a large abandoned house, empty rooms and stone walls. The cellar must be below the house, because Merlin reaches a step of stairs. Merlin takes them two at a time, feeling blindly along the rough stone in an attempt to keep his balance.

He reaches the top and turns a corner. There’s a bang behind him and Merlin startles in terror, glancing behind him wildly. His feet are still moving though and he shrieks when he runs straight into another body. 

There’s a terrifying moment where chaos reigns, a fumble of confused limbs. Merlin sucks in a breath, blinking rapidly. Strong arms grasp his forearms and Merlin looks up into blue eyes.

Arthur Pendragon is stood in front of him. 

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes. He repeats it, helpless to how sweet Arthur’s name feels on his lips. “_ Arthur.” _

Arthur looks absolutely _ wrecked. _His eyes are wide, wild, almost all pupil with a sliver of blue. His gaze is as steely and sharp as the sword he wields. Scarlet paints one cheek, mud smeared over another. His sword is held confidently in one skilled hand, his armour shining silver, his hair shining gold.

He doesn’t looked wrecked. He looks dangerous. He looks _ lethal. _

“Merlin!” Merlin has never heard Arthur say his name like that. Arthur reaches for him, runs his hands over Merlin’s wrists, arms, his shoulders. It’s all happening so fast, details registering in shorts bursts. Arthur’s armour is cold. Merlin’s wrists are burning. His knees are threatening to buckle. 

Arthur’s hands are calloused. Merlin wants to collapse into them, wants him to sink into Arthur’s hold, is drawn to him like the moon calls to the tides. 

“What did they do to you?” Arthur demands. He can’t stop touching Merlin. His hands travel a path from Merlin’s shoulders to the shackles around his wrists. When he reaches the cuffs, a shocked noise is ripped from the back of his throat. “Who did this to you?”

The stone in Merlin’s hand clatters to the floor. Arthur jumps, looking at Merlin with worried eyes. Merlin clears his throat. “I hit - I hit Archer with it. He’s knocked out, but I don’t think it’ll be for long.”

“Good, Merlin, well done,” Arthur praises. He lifts a hand to Merlin’s face, as though he wants to cup his cheek, but there’s barely an inch that’s not bruised. Arthur whines in frustration. “Merlin, is that who did this to you? Who hurt you like this?”

Merlin barely manages to say, “Archer,” before Arthur is pushing past him. He keeps one hand wrapped around Merlin’s forearm, like Merlin will disappear if he lets go. 

“I’m going to kill him.” Arthur marches forward, slashing his sword to one side. “I’m going to kill him me for what he’s done, where _ is he - _“

“Arthur,” Merlin manages. The edges of his vision are turning black. “There’s - something’s wrong - I - “

Arthur is there in an instant. Merlin’s knees buckle and Arthur catches him around the waist with one arm. “Merlin, look at me - “

Merlin swallows, trying to focus. “I can’t - I - Arthur, we have to _ go _.”

Arthur looks conflicted, but he nods sharply. “You need medical attention. Your lip is bleeding and your cheek, not to mention your _ head _\- “ Arthur reaches for it almost instinctively, but Merlin flinches away and he drops his hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

They stumble through the house. Arthur must have memorised the way, because he knows every turn to take. They pass two of Archer’s men, knocked unconscious. Merlin is lucid enough to ask, “Did you come alone?” 

“It’s a long story,” Arthur answers tightly.

They finally stumble out the final door and into the light. Merlin blinks blearily. They’re in a cove of trees, hidden deep in the forest. Merlin drops to the ground, clutching his head. He can’t _ think. _He can hear Arthur speaking to him in a worried tone, clutching Merlin’s shoulders with desperate hands.

Merlin opens his eyes in time to see Archer stumble out of the house. “Arthur! Watch out!”

Arthur turns instinctively, bringing his sword up to meet Archer’s. Because Archer has a sword now. Maybe that’s what he was going to torture Merlin with, Merlin thinks a little hysterically. 

The sound of swords clashing rings through the clearing. Merlin feels useless, collapsed to his knees as Arthur and Archer battle it out. There’s a shout and then another one of Archer’s men is running into the clearing. Arthur’s fighting two men now, weaving and ducking, sword flashing with the glare of the sun.

Merlin feels like his chest is on fire, a small star battering against his ribs, desperate to escape. 

A third man has staggered from the house. He must be one of the men they passed as they were escaping. Arthur is a skilled swordsman, is lethal and fierce and relentless. Archer is clutching his arm, blood spilling over his fingers. But even Arthur is slowed down by three men against one.

They’re circling Arthur now like a pack of wolves. One of the men darts forward and Arthur is forced to take a step back. A cornered Arthur is more dangerous, unpredictable and furious, like a trapped panther. But he can’t last forever.

Archer surges forward. Arthur meets his blow, but as he does one of the other men lash out. He catches Arthur’s arm and Arthur yells in pain. The wolves, sensing weakness, move in closer. Arthur swaps his sword arm with ease, has long since learnt to fight with his right as well as his left. Arthur blocks another hit and that’s when Archer slashes towards Arthur’s throat.

The world stills around him. The cold Autumn air, the rustle of the leaves, every sign of life, plant, tree, creature, it all stops. Merlin digs his fingers into the earth beneath his hands, feels the ground beneath his nails, anchors himself to the very land he was born to protect.

Merlin closes his eyes and _ screams _.

The scream rips from his lungs and with it, Merlin’s magic surges forward. The shackles around his wrists shatter and crack. Merlin can feel his eyes burn gold and the three men surrounding Arthur go flying backwards. They hit the ground with a sickening thump, then lie motionless. 

Merlin collapses to the ground in relief. His magic greets him like an old friend; warmth floods through his veins, swirls around his heart and nestles beneath his collarbone. It’s like sinking into a hot bath after a month of nothing but ice, that pleasant burn of heat and comfort and contentment. He feels complete again.

Merlin feels _ alive. _ It’s such a relief that tears form in his eyes. They spill over his cheeks with joy and he dashes them away. When he glances down at his hands, they’re _ glowing. _

He’s so overcome with happiness that it takes several minutes for him to take it all in. When he finally looks up, Arthur is staring at him. 

Arthur, who has just seen Merlin perform magic. 

All the air rushes from his lungs. The joy of a few seconds ago disapparates instantly. 

Merlin opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know where he’d - what he’d - 

Arthur’s expression is completely unreadable. Unreadable to _ Merlin _, Merlin who knows the shape of Arthur’s face better than his own and has seen every feeling to ever grace it. 

Merlin can’t read him now. He wouldn't know where to even _ begin. _Arthur’s eyes are completely shuttered, a wall of harsh steel. Right now, they’re the colour of the sky before a storm.

Arthur’s hand is wrapped around his sword. His knuckles are white. 

Merlin wants to say something, needs to say something, anything, but he can’t form the words. Arthur must be having the same problem, because he opens his mouth once, before closing it, gaze pensive.

Finally, Arthur speaks. “Did your kidnappers enchant you.”

It’s framed as a question, but it’s not asked as one. They both know Arthur already knows the answer. He’s just waiting to hear Merlin own to it. 

Merlin can scarcely breathe. “No.”

Arthur takes a slow step back. A crack splinters across Merlin’s heart. “They didn’t enchant you.”

There is blood in Merlin’s mouth. Dirt under his nails. Merlin is made of iron and earth and he is crumbling. “They didn’t enchant me.”

Arthur is speaking in this terrible, detached tone. Distant and measured. One word after the other. “You weren’t enchanted. Or cursed. Which means that magic came from you.”

Merlin’s silence is an admission of guilt in itself; a slow, steady poison.

Arthur touches his neck absentmindedly. The tips of his fingers come away crimson. Archer’s sword did catch him then, would have cut Arthur’s throat if Merlin hadn’t been there. 

Arthur stares at the blood on his hands dispassionately. “I should be dead.”

Merlin startles at that. It shocks him into speaking. “Arthur, no - “

“Don’t interrupt me, Merlin.” The command is so familiar, so commonplace, but the inflection is so jarringly wrong. It’s the edge of a knife, quietly dangerous. “That sword was aimed at my throat. I felt its edge cut my skin, I have the blood on my neck to prove it. It was three against one and I was losing.”

Merlin is still crouched on the floor, kneeling and surrounded by shattered iron. The cuffs lay lifeless in the grass. Arthur stands tall, silhouette backed by the sun. There may as well be a chasm between them. 

Merlin never wanted it to happen this way. Had never imagined it would end like this. He’d had foolish, childish dreams of Arthur taking the throne, accepting magic’s purpose, to be neither good nor bad, but to just _ be _. He’d fantasise about the great reveal, how Arthur would be shocked but delighted, how he’d welcome Merlin, how he’d - 

It doesn’t matter now. They were foolish dreams to have. 

“You saved my life,” Arthur continues. “I should be dead, but I’m not because of you, because of a _ sorcerer _\- “

He bites off the last word. It’s the first show of emotion. When he speaks, the edges of his words are harsh and jagged. “Why didn’t you free yourself earlier? Those cuffs did something to you, didn’t they?”

Merlin scrubs a hand over his face. His eyes are burning with unshed tears. “They - they stopped my magic. Made it so I couldn’t use it anymore.”

Arthur’s voice is harsh. “Archer knew?”

Merlin shakes his head. “I don’t think so. He said he just - wanted to be prepared. In case. Because Gaius used to - use magic. He was worried Gaius had taught me.”

He can hear the unspoken question, but Arthur doesn’t ask. Perhaps he can’t bear it. Merlin answers it anyway. “Gaius didn’t teach me magic. I was - I was born with it.”

He looks down at his wrists. They look awful. The skin is rubbed raw, his entire wrist a shiny pink, exposed and damaged. 

“What did Archer want?”

Merlin feels empty. Hollow. He answers Arthur dully, unsure what else to do. “He wanted to kill you. Uther killed his parents, during the Great Purge.” Tears mark his cheeks and he rubs at his face. “They weren’t actually - they didn’t practice magic. Uther wiped the entire village out.”

Merlin climbs to his feet. He’s sick of kneeling. If he’s going to have this conversation, he’s going to have it standing. Arthur flinches and that hurts, like a punch to the stomach. Arthur physically takes a step back, hand tightening on his sword.

Merlin doesn’t move. He stares down at his boots, dragging them through the dirt. He wonders dispassionately if Arthur is going to kill him. He hasn’t yet. He wonders if Arthur is going to take him back to Camelot, so Uther will kill him instead.

Once Arthur is sure Merlin isn’t going to move, he speaks again. “And what did he do to you?”

Merlin frowns, caught off guard. “Who? Uther?”

“_ Archer _.”

“Oh.” Merlin swallows, glancing at his blistered wrists. “Not - I mean - he just. Hit me a few times. He split my lip pretty well. I don’t really know about my head, I couldn’t clean it because, well.” He lifts his wrists up to demonstrate.

Arthur’s eyes fall to his wrists and a shadow passes over his face. 

Merlin couldn’t tell you how long they stand there. Arthur doesn’t say anything else. He’s refusing to look at Merlin, jaw a sharp line with his head turned anyway. Merlin drops his wrists and wraps a hand around his ribs instead. 

Exhaustion creeps into his bones, sinks under his skin. Merlin has nothing left to give. He’s listless, untethered. It washes over him, numb. 

Arthur breaks the quiet. “Your wounds needs to be cleaned.”

Arthur leaves then, turns without another word and walks away. Merlin follows him, helpless to do anything else.

  


-

He follows Arthur to a small stream. 

Arthur hadn’t looked back once, grip tight on his sword. He’d arrived ahead of Merlin and he’s crouched by the stream, ripping bandages into pieces and dunking them in the river. 

Merlin, for lack of anything else to do, takes a careful seat on a large rock. The shock had worn off as he had stumbled after Arthur, tripping on roots in his haste to catch up. The numbness had given way and now he’s feeling - actually, he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Everything at once.

You could cut the tension with a knife. Merlin sits so still he may as well be a statue. His brain won’t _ shut up _ ; part of his mind is chanting _ Arthur knows, Arthur knows, Arthur knows, _blaring it a full volume.

While Arthur is wetting bandages, Merlin begins to pull at the damaged skin around his wrist. He can’t stop picking it. A particularly painful bit comes loose and Merlin hisses. Arthur’s head snaps up and Merlin stills his hands. 

Arthur comes to sit on the rock next to him. Merlin can tell he didn’t want to, had hesitated, before realising standing up wouldn’t work. The thought process happened so quick that only Merlin would have caught it. Now Arthur’s resolutely holding a damp bandage, but it’s obvious how on edge he is.

The first touch of water is jarringly cold; the pain jolts through him. Merlin inhales, instinctively jerking his wrist away. Merlin flushes, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Arthur doesn’t answer. He methodically cleans Merlin’s left wrist, the clinical, professional touch that Gaius uses with his patients. Meanwhile, Merlin’s mind has moved onto chanting _ you’re so dead, you’re so dead, you’re so dead. _

When Merlin’s brain gets like this, he’ll fidget. Normally he’d play with the ends of his scarf, a nervous tic. Merlin can’t do that right now, because Arthur’s holding his hands in a perfunctory grip, inspecting an open wound. All that nervous energy is building and there’s not even the smallest outlet for it. 

Merlin lasts five more minutes before he cracks. 

“What’s the point?” Merlin blurts.

Arthur pauses in what he’s doing. “The point?”

It is at this moment, that Merlin just decides to have a full on breakdown. There really is nothing left to lose. Merlin is not physically capable of keeping all these emotions inside him. 

“What is the point of cleaning my wounds?” Merlin asks hysterically. “If you’re going to execute me, a couple of bruises won’t matter.”

Arthur’s mouth pulls into a tight, thin line. “Merlin - ”

“No!” Merlin yanks his hands out of Arthur’s grip. “I have magic! I was born with it and I just used it in front of the crown Prince of Camelot. Where magic is outlawed on pain of death!”

God, Merlin might as well light the pyre himself. Why is he _ reminding _ Arthur that his existence is illegal, _ what is he doing? _ Whatever it is, Merlin can’t stop now. The words won’t stop spilling out. “A black eye is going to be the least of my worries when I am _ burning to death _ \- “

“Stop it!” Arthur shouts. “Just - stop talking like that!”

“Talking like _ what _ ?” Merlin shouts back. “It’s the _ law _, I’ve only ever used my magic for good and now I - “

“How do I know that?” Arthur yells, slamming his hand down on the rock. “How do I know that your plan hasn’t been to kill me all along - “

“I’ve never hurt you! My destiny is to keep you safe, all I have ever done - “

“Your _ destiny _? What is this, more - more lies about magic - “

“If I wanted to kill you, why wouldn’t I just do it! I’ve had more than enough opportunities - “

“And that’s supposed to make me trust you - “

“What trust? We both think the other one wants to kill us!” Merlin screams. 

Arthur recoils. Merlin’s words echo through the forest. 

Arthur is looking at him like he’s seeing Merlin for the first time. Merlin supposes he is. Merlin supposes they both are.

Merlin is so very tired of crying today. 

Arthur’s hands are clenched in his lap. When he looks up, Merlin is horrified to see that his eyes are red. “I am so _ angry _at you.” He looks away furiously and his cheeks are wet. “Angrier than I ever remember being.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to say, He bites his bottom lip, only to wince in pain as he remembers the cut. Merlin wipes at it roughly, not caring when bleed smears on the back of his hand. 

“I’ve only ever used my magic for good,” Merlin whispers brokenly. “I’ve only ever used it to protect you.”

Arthur still won’t look at him. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “I came here because I thought I’d lost you. Turns out I never really had you in the first place.”

Merlin has never felt pain like this. This hurts more than the bruised ribs and black eye and split lip combined. His heart feels like an open wound, raw and exposed and bleeding in his chest.

Everything he had built with Arthur, the hard won trust, the teasing friendship, those intimate moments of honesty between them where Arthur tells Merlin things he tells no other, all destroyed within minutes. The grief is all encompassing, a tidal wave that threatens to drown him.

Arthur’s jaw is set, his cheeks still flushed after their shouting. Merlin can’t bear the silence, can’t stomach another second of it. “What are you going to do with me?”

Arthur sighs wearily. His eyes are ringed with exhaustion, his lower lids smudged with lilac. They’re both absolute _ states _; bruised and bloodied and tearful. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Merlin swallows. 

Arthur swears under his breath. “Merlin, _ gods _\- “

Merlin reaches for the dropped bandages, but Arthur gets there before him. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur begins to bandage his wrist. Merlin can only watch in shock, stomach pitching with uncertainty as Arthur winds the bandage round and round.

“I’m not going to execute you,” Arthur says quietly. He ties the end of the bandage neatly. “I wouldn’t - I’m not going to hurt you.”

He bandages the other wrist, then hesitates. Merlin’s wrist rests on Arthur’s knee from where he’s lent forward. Arthur’s finger are feather light on Merlin’s skin. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Arthur repeats quietly. 

Merlin nods jerkily. 

Arthur pulls back. He dips a cloth into the stream, then lifts it to Merlin’s face. Merlin leans into it cautiously. Arthur’s strokes are smooth and precise. He has to wash the cloth twice, each time it dirtied with dirt and sweat and blood.

Arthur pauses over Merlin’s cheekbone. It’s bruised from Archer hitting him, Merlin can feel where it’s throbbing and sensitive. “Hold still,” Arthur murmurs, and Merlin’s eyes flutter closed. Arthur dabs at it gently.

When he opens his eyes, Arthur’s face is grave. He looks up at Merlin through his lashes. “Did they feed you? And give you water?”

“I.” Merlin wants to lie, doesn’t want to make Arthur any angrier. But he can’t, not with Arthur looking at him like that. Besides. There’s been enough deception. “Not really.”

“Be more specific.”

“They gave me a bit of bread and some water once a day,” Merlin admits. “They - they forgot on the third day.”

Arthur finishes cleaning and dressing Merlin’s injuries with routine precision. When he’s finished, Arthur throws the cloth to the floor with more force than necessary. 

Merlin tactfully doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know the new rules of who they are now. It feels like he’s walking on ice, unsure where to tread.

“You’re too weak to travel.” Arthur gets to his feet. “There’s an inn close by, we’ll spend the night there.”

Merlin’s eyes go wide. “We’re not - I can travel. Camelot can’t be far.”

For a moment Arthur sounds like his old self. “Merlin, it’s over a day’s ride.”

“What!” Merlin gapes at him. “But - I don’t remember any of the journey! I know I had a head wound, but I can’t have been unconscious for an entire day.”

Arthur looks troubled. “If you have gaps in your memory, then you’re definitely not fit to travel yet.”

Merlin nods, lost in thought. He wobbles slightly when he stands, stretching his arms out to steady himself. Arthur watches him to ensure he’s upright, before reaching for his sword. Then he turns without a word, heading back towards the path, Merlin trailing after him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out so differently to how I thought, I struggled with chapter one and then I wrote all of this chapter in two days. this chapter was so intense, i was writing it and 5k Arthur wasn't even there yet? because i was so focused on merlin and what he was thinking
> 
> idk if archer's motivation was any good, i know that part was a bit weak. HOWEVER, i do think it would be blatantly obvious to everyone how devoted arthur is to merlin, like???? when you watch the show arthur is really just out there defying uther after knowing merlin for a week??? if i was a spy in camelot, it would not take me long to realise merlin is pretty good leverage, i'm just saying 
> 
> I would love to hear people's thoughts about the magic reveal! The boys still have a lot to talk about. There's no way Arthur is going to hurt Merlin, but equally he's angry and frightened and pretty upset by nearly losing him (not that he'll admit that yet). They have a lot to work through. How convenient they are now spending a night together at the inn
> 
> that was an intense chapter slower pace next time phew it is now time for me to get some SLEEp
> 
> would love to hear what people think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a difficult chapter, these two have a lot to work through. they're getting there
> 
> on a separate note, i have listened to so much hamilton this week and yorktown is incredible and i just. don't know how to recover from that
> 
> anyway i hope you like the chapter!

Merlin doesn’t remember a lot of the walk to the inn. 

It’s par for the course at this point; the entire day has been a never ending explosion of fear, dread and adrenaline. Merlin has no idea if his brain is choosing to block out this awkward, slow trek through the woods, or whether he’s just too consumed in his own thoughts to pay attention to anything at all.

They finally arrive at a modest looking inn on the outskirts of the forest. Arthur slips through unnoticed and the bar lady must recognise him from earlier, as she pushes a set of keys over the bar top to him with a smile. 

“Your room is all ready,” she tells them, smiling kindly but obviously distracted by a group of customers that have just walked in. “It’s on the second floor, third to the right.”

Merlin hangs back, eyeing the men that have just walked in warily. He lets out a breath when he doesn’t recognise any of them.

Arthur is speaking quietly to the woman. Merlin can’t hear what she says in response, before Arthur is scooping up the keys. 

Merlin trails after Arthur, taking the creaking wooden stairs a step at a time. Arthur doesn’t look back. Arthur isn’t doing _ anything, _he’s not looking at Merlin, he hasn’t said a word to him since cleaning Merlin’s wounds. 

Arthur pushes open the door; it’s a nice enough room, a lot nicer than some of the places Merlin has slept. There are high wooden beams and a small fireplace.

Arthur pulls off his cape; his movements short and agitated. Normally Merlin would collect it, hang it up for him, but he doesn’t now. Instead he just stands awkwardly by the door. The badges around his wrists feel tight. 

The prince kicks off his boots next. Then, he folds his cape neatly and places it at the end of the bed. Merlin is so focused on Arthur’s movements that it’s only at that moment he realises _ there is only one bed. _

For lack of anything else to say, Merlin blurts, “There’s only one bed.”

Arthur takes a moment to respond. “I passed through here yesterday and asked for a room. I couldn’t say I needed two beds, because I didn’t want to raise suspicions.” 

“You knew we needed a bed?”

“I knew I’d already travelled a day’s ride,” Arthur replies tersely. He’s standing with his back to Merlin, unlacing his vambraces. “And I knew you’d been missing for four days at least.”

The anger coils around Arthur; tangible. It’s the seconds before a summer storm, where the air turns tight and humid, the clouds dark and looming. Merlin watches the tight line of Arthur’s shoulders and waits for it to pour.

He’s saved from the stifling tension by a knock on the door. Arthur doesn’t startle, so Merlin goes out on a limb that it isn’t a murderer, (like he cares at this point), and opens the door. He blinks at one of the inn staff, who hands him a tray with two plates of stew.

Merlin takes the plates gratefully, if a little dazed at how his stomach lurches at how good the food smells. It’s hot too, the warmth bleeding through into his hands. 

Arthur, without looking at him, takes one of the plates off the tray and walks over to the tiny wooden table. As though he couldn’t bare to sit next to him, as though he’s going to use what limited space he has to put it between him and Merlin. 

Merlin perches awkwardly on the edge of the bed. He’s distracted for a while with his own stew, his first proper meal in five days. The suppression of his magic hasn’t helped the exhaustion that wracks his body.

Merlin has been hungry before, has walked the tightrope of _ just enough food. _He and Hunith had been one of the luckier families in the village, as they had a small vegetable patch which - aided by Merlin’s magic - survived the harsher winters. Merlin grew up on just enough to eat, which was more than most families, and still grew up with his lower ribs visible and his hip bones jutting out.

Arthur always talks about how thin Merlin is, how there’s ‘nothing of him.’ He worries about it, although he pretends he doesn’t. Sometimes when Merlin goes to clean Arthur’s rooms, there’ll be fruit or bread or half a pie, miraculously left behind. 

Merlin manages the first half of the bowl easy. It’s after that his stomach protests; he suddenly can’t eat anymore. Merlin tries, he really does, but he can’t manage another mouthful. This, for some reason, sends a jolt of panic through Merlin. Before he can help it, he’s blurting the name of the one person he always turns to when he’s lost and uncertain. “Arthur - “

Arthur keeps a tight grip on his fork. There’s a sharp retort on his tongue, but then he must see the alarm in Merlin’s eyes. “What is it?”

Merlin, because he’s an equally inept emotional disaster, drops his gaze and mutters, “Do you want the rest of my stew?”

Arthur sighs. He puts his fork down with a clink and Merlin flinches. “How much have you eaten?”

Merlin ducks his head. “About half. I can’t - I don’t know if I can eat anymore.” Babbling has always been a nervous tic of Merlin’s. “I don’t know why, I’ve been so hungry. They didn’t give me a lot to eat and I thought when I finally got some food - “

“Your body has gotten used to not eating properly,” Arthur interjects quietly. His knuckles are white, clenched around his fork. “It was preparing for more days of the same, of having not enough to eat. It’s why you’re struggling to eat now.”

“Oh.”

Arthur sighs. “Try to eat some more, but you don’t force yourself or you’ll be sick.”

Merlin nods, and then he pretends to eat some more whilst just mushing his remaining stew into paste with his spoon. It’s not like Arthur is going to notice, not when he won’t even look in Merlin’s direction.

Arthur eventually stands up and places his bowl back on the tray. Merlin, unsure of what to do, copies him, and Arthur leaves the tray outside for the inn staff, Arthur doing this feels so wrong; it’s not like Merlin particularly enjoys cleaning up after Arthur but it is his _ job. _Folding Arthur’s cape, straightening his boots, clearing away his dinner. It’s literally what Merlin is paid to do, to have Arthur take on that role - 

It’s like Merlin doesn’t exist. Like Merlin is a ghost, haunting Arthur from a far, lingering behind him and aching to be heard.

There’s a small bathroom attached to the main bedroom; Arthur would have paid more for that, but then again it’s not as though the Prince of Camelot has to be thrifty. Merlin can hear water running, the sounds of Arthur washing his face. 

Merlin decides he’s not going to be waiting awkwardly on the bed for Arthur to return, so he waits awkwardly by the wall instead. Arthur passes him and - shockingly - makes no eye contact, Merlin passes Arthur and throws a desperate look his way.

The water from the sink is cold. It’s bracing and Merlin is careful not to wet the bandages around his wrist. There’s a dirty mirror above the basin; Merlin looks at his grimy reflection and tries not to cry.

It’s dark when Merlin returns to the room; Arthur has snuffed out all of the candles. 

Arthur is already under the covers. His back is to Merlin, curled over on his side and facing away from him. It could be interpreted as a gesture of trust, placing your back to someone, but Merlin knows that’s not the case here. Arthur’s shoulders are a rigid line. Merlin can see the way the sheets are pulled tight, would bet that Arthur is clenching the blanket tightly. 

Exhaustion wins out over awkwardness and anxiety. Merlin tentatively climbs into bed, touching the blankets gingerly as though they’re going to set him on fire. He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but tiredness overtakes him and he’s unconscious within minutes. 

  
  
  


-

Merlin is jolted awake with the horrible feeling he is going to vomit everywhere.

He had been struggling to sleep, tossing uncomfortably and slipping in and out of unsettling dreams. The nausea comes out of nowhere, hits him hard and forces him awake.

Merlin gasps for breath, disorientated and shaken. His head is pounding, and when he squeezes his eyes shut, stars explode behind his lids. Merlin can’t pinpoint what it is, what’s happening. He is still half asleep and muddled.

Merlin staggers to his feet. He doesn’t register the startled noise of the other person beside him, too busy frantically making his way to the bathroom. Merlin clutches the sink and dry heaves; he wretches but nothing comes up.

Merlin feels wild, untethered. He looks down at his hands and they are glowing, surrounded by bright light. 

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut. He clenches the edge of the sink and lets the magic pass through him. When it finally settles, it leaves him shaken and drained. Merlin somehow, somehow knows this is because his magic has been locked away for so long. It’s an aftershock, a jolt to his system as his magic re-orientates itself. All that magic suppressed for so long was bound to have some side effects.

He collapses to the floor. His chest is heaving, heavy, dragging inhales. Merlin pulls his legs to his chest, hides his head on his knees while the tremors rack through him.

It feels like hours, days, but the whole thing can only have been a minute at most. Short enough that by the time Arthur bursts through the door, he’s missed all of Merlin’s magic display. All Arthur sees is Merlin curled up on himself, utterly pathetic.

“Merlin!” Arthur gaps. Merlin peeks through his arms, before burying his head again. He looks exhausted, lilac rings around his eyes and his golden hair tousled. Arthur drops to the floor, crouching in front of Merlin. “What happened?”

Merlin’s nails dig into his thighs. Warm hands wrap around his forearms. “Were you sick? Was it the stew?”

Merlin shakes his head miserably, still curled in on himself. Arthur squeezes his forearms gently. One hand cups the back of Merlin’s head, threads through the short hair at his nape. “Is it your head?”

Merlin mumbles something. Arthur, mishearing, makes an inquiring noise. Merlin mumbles a bit louder. “Handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs,” Arthur repeats. “Your - your wrists hurt?”

Merlin finally lifts his head. His eyes are streaming, from dry heaving earlier. “No, I - it’s the - “ Angry at himself, at everything, unable to explain what he means, Merlin swipes at his cheeks. “The handcuffs they - you don’t know what they were _ like _.”

Arthur goes still. The hand in Merlin’s hair is motionless, still gently cupping Merlin’s head. Arthur’s eyes dart to his. “No, I don’t.”

“It was awful,” Merlin whispers. Part of him wonders if this is all a nightmare, the cold floor tiles, the flickering shadows, the burning in his throat. Whether he’s really still in that cellar. “I was born with magic, I’ve never - “

Merlin trails. Arthur’s voice shakes when he speaks. Perhaps he’s just as affected by these four walls, by the shadows closing in on them. “Magic is taught.”

“Not mine.”

Merlin doesn’t know how long they stay there, Arthur knelt on the cold floor, Merlin’s back to the stone. Finally, Arthur clears his throat. “And the handcuffs they - made you sick?”

Merlin tilts his head back against the wall. Arthur moves his hand, drops it to Merlin’s knee instead. “Not using my magic made me sick. It was like - drowning. And now I can breathe again, but all that water is still in my lungs.”

There are three cracks in the ceiling. They splinter off, interweave. Even the ceiling is washed in grey-scale, the bathroom barely lit.

Arthur climbs to his feet. In the darkness, his hair looks silver. He holds out a hand wordlessly. Merlin takes it. Arthur pulls him to his feet. 

“You need some sleep.” They’re stood too close. Arthur steps away first. “Come on. Your body needs rest.” 

Merlin follows him, pausing when Arthur reaches behind him to loop a hand around Merlin’s bandaged wrist. Arthur tugs softly, pulling Merlin forward. 

Merlin lets himself be led, follows Arthur into the room. Arthur releases his grip and Merlin collapses onto the mattress. He curls into a ball, facing away from Arthur and burying his head in the pillow. 

The mattress sinks beside him, Arthur clambering into the bed. Merlin’s shoulders are so tight that they may as well be drawn up to his ears. 

There’s a soft touch between his shoulder blades. Merlin closes his eyes and exhales. 

-

Merlin wakes slowly the next morning

His eyes feel gritty. Merlin frowns unhappily, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. The last thing he wants to do right now is to wake up. Perhaps if he shuts his eyes really tight, then he can force his body to go back to sleep. 

It’s no use. Merlin’s entire body hurts; he feels like he ran a marathon the night before and now his muscles are exhausted. More like ran a marathon and fought a dragon and cleaned the leech tank for four hours straight.

Cleaning the leech tank, no pun intended, _ sucks. _

His whole body aches; his wrists are throbbing painfully, meaning they’re due a change of bandages. Merlin makes a small whine of discomfort, blinking his eyes open.

Arthur is looking back at him. 

Merlin inhales sharply. Arthur doesn’t move, though. He’s lying on his side, facing Merlin. Arthur must have been awake for a while, because his gaze is sharp and clear, not sleep muddled and bleary, which is how Merlin feels right now.

“How are you feeling?”

Merlin swallows. “Less like I’m going to throw up.”

Arthur’s lips twitch. “Well, that’s a start.”

His tone still isn’t quite right. Arthur’s lips may move, but it’s a ghost of an action, an echo of an emotion.

“My bandages need changing,” Merlin says quietly. He brings up his bandaged wrists, wincing. The skin is smarting painfully.

A shadow passes over Arthur’s face. “Let’s get to it then,” Arthur orders, equally quietly, and that’s that. 

Merlin changes his own bandages this time, washing his wrists as best he can in the small, cracked sink. His reflection looks back at him, wan and pale. Merlin gives it the middle finger. It doesn’t make him feel any better, so he finishes up. Arthur must call for breakfast, because it’s there when Merlin comes back into the room. 

Merlin sits on the bed. Arthur sits at the table. 

At least his bacon roll is nice. The bread is soft and thick, the bacon the right side of salty. Eating settles his stomach, makes him feel a little better. It’s enough to give Merlin the courage to speak. “Arthur?”

Arthur grunts. Merlin chooses to read that as a ‘yes, Merlin, please do continue, how I have missed our charming conversations.’ “Where does your father think you are? How did you get out of the castle?”

Arthur sighs. “I dropped out of the tourney.”

Merlin chokes on his bread.

Arthur waits patiently whilst Merlin does his best to advert gagging to death. When Merlin can finally breathe again, Arthur graciously ignores the tears streaming from Merlin’s eyes. “You quit the tourney? _ You _? You always win - “

Arthur scowls. “Yes, I _ know _. But I needed an excuse to get out of the tournament. I was going to fake an illness, have Gaius pretend I was unwell and that was why I had lost. My father would have stomached that better than the crown Prince just being - a failure.”

“So you told the King you were sick?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, I wanted to but Gaius suggested another idea. He said that faking an illness was too risky, too many ways to be found out. I’d have to pretend to not just be sick but contagious, so no one would check on me. Gaius said the best lies are the ones that have some truth in them.” The next comment just slips out, hastened by bitterness and betrayal. “I guess that didn’t work for you.”

Merlin blanches. Arthur inhales sharply, ducking his head in shame. When he speaks, he doesn’t meet Merlin’s eyes. “I - I apologise, that wasn’t - “

Merlin can see Arthur shut down; he sets his jaw, shakes his head once. The castle walls go back up and Merlin is once again left on the outside. This is what Arthur does - this is what Arthur always does, Merlin has seen it before.

Uther has never let his son become emotional, has always drilled into him the image he needs to present to the world, the impression that Uther wants him to exude. If Arthur is emotionally repressed, Uther is ten times so and _ Uther _is the one Arthur learnt that from. 

Arthur doesn’t deal with his emotions; he keeps going and going, doing what is right and good and noble and never stopping to take a breath. He locks it all up inside himself.

“I told Gaius of my plan,” Arthur continues finally, voice completely flat. “He persuaded me to do something different.”

“You told Gaius?” Merlin asks tentatively.

“Gaius suggested a different option,” Arthur says tersely, which means Arthur was about to climb out of his window and Gaius caught him red handed. “He suggested we tell my father some of the story. We told him that I had sent you to find out more about a potential plot to attack Camelot. We didn’t tell the King in case it turned out to be nothing. You’re a servant so you can get into places unnoticed that I can’t.” Arthur shoots Merlin an apologetic look. “And you’re a servant, so you’re disposable in his eyes.”

Merlin snorts. That makes sense; Uther would think nothing of sending a servant into a potential death trap. Uther would probably see it as a great honour if Merlin had been murdered by would-be assassins. Uther may have posthumously commended Merlin for finally being useful. “And he believed you? He let you go?”

Arthur shrugs. “It helped that Gaius corroborated my story. I persuaded my father that we needed to keep this quiet, in case there was a spy within Camelot. We’d use the excuse of me becoming ill as the reason for my absence.” Arthur scowls. “Which made sense, because there is no way I’d quit the tournament unless I was physically incapable of fighting.”

Merlin arches an eyebrow. “But you ended up coming alone?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “I hadn’t planned to. I was going to bring a small group of knights but then - then they all fell ill.”

Merlin leans forward, resting his hands on his knees. “What?”

Arthur looks uncomfortable. “It was - odd. I thought at first it was just the flu, being passed between them, but then - I don’t know. None of them are seriously ill but the timing of it was - “

“ - suspicious,” Merlin finishes, heart pounding. “So the King just let you come alone?”

“I didn’t ask his permission,” Arthur mutters. 

Merlin’s mouth goes dry. “Oh.”

The tips of Arthur’s ears have turned pink. 

“What about Gaius?”

“I didn’t ask his permission either.”

“Oh.” Merlin clears his throat. “Arthur, I - something isn’t right.”

Arthur’s head snaps up. “What do you mean?”

“Archer wasn’t working alone,” Merlin begins hesitantly. “There were the two other men at the house - “ The two other men, along with Archer, who are now - dead. Dead because Merlin killed them, but he didn’t mean to - he didn’t - 

\- Merlin can’t think about that now. 

Merlin continues, trying to block out the dark thoughts. It’s difficult. They swirl around in his brain like a hive of wasps. “That’s at least two other men. But there were times when Archer was here, with me, so who was keeping watch in Camelot? What if you’d decided to rush off when Archer was here?”

Arthur’s face is calculating, analytical. It’s the same expression he wears when he’s discussing tactics with the knights, or with the King. The same expression he wears when he and Merlin stay awake until the late hours, in Arthur’s chambers, trying to unpick the latest plot, the latest enchantment, the latest curse. “When I looked for you, I followed a set of tracks. Horse tracks, but there was also - blood.” Arthur pauses and they both shudder. “Not a lot, but. Some. But this was four days after you’d been missing and those tracks, they were - “

“Fresh?” Merlin guesses, and Arthur nods. “And you said that we are a day’s ride from Camelot? Arthur, I don’t remember any of the journey. If my head injury caused an eight hour black out, I - I don’t think I would be breathing on my own right now, let alone having a conversation with you!”

“You think there’s someone else?” Arthur proposes, and Merlin nods in agreement. “That Archer had a man within Camelot.”

Merlin hesitates. “Not - not just that.”

Arthur tilts his head. “What is it?”

Merlin links his hands together nervously. “I think - I think whoever it is, they have magic.”

The room is very quiet. Merlin looks down at his linked fingertips, holding his breath. When he chances a look, Arthur is pinching the bridge of his nose. “So do I.”

Merlin swallows. “You do?”

Arthur runs his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends. “There are too many things that don’t make sense. Too many coincidences. My horse - she had been fine all the way here, then lost a shoe once I got to a certain point. I had to leave her stabled here, that’s why I didn’t have her when I came to rescue you.”

Merlin tugs at the bandages around his wrists, fidgeting nervously. “Archer - those handcuffs, I don’t know how he would have gotten them. I don’t know how he even put together I might know magic - “

Arthur leans forward. “Did he catch you using magic? Do you think he found out?”

Merlin frowns. “No, no, I don’t. He said he knew Gaius used to use magic and was worried Gaius may have taught me. But Arthur - that doesn’t add up either! The Great Purge was years ago, _ you _didn’t even know Gaius used to practice the old ways until the witch finder mentioned it! How many people - alive people - would know about that?”

“That’s true,” Arthur agrees. “The Purge was a long time ago and it’s not as though my father allows any talk of the old days. Was he born in Camelot?”

“No!” Merlin exclaims. “That’s the odd thing, he said that after his parents were killed, he was raised away from Camelot.”

“Merlin, can you remember everything Archer said to you ?” Arthur asks urgently. “Did he say anything about his plan? Anything that might be useful?”

Merlin thinks furiously. “He came to see me two - well, three times, if you count when I first woke up after being knocked out. He put the handcuffs on me, he, uh. He didn’t really ask me a lot. He was - I - he - “ Merlin stutters over the words. “He - he said he’d just - torture me - “

“_ What? _” Arthur stares at him. “Merlin, did he - did - “

“No!” Merlin says loudly. “No, Arthur, no, he just threatened to. If you - he said if you weren’t there by day five, then he’d just torture me. For secrets and stuff. Information about Camelot. That was the back up plan.”

“The back up plan,” Arthur repeats faintly.

“I mean, that’s what I called it in my head,” Merlin mutters. “It was easier to think of it like that, rather than ‘you’re going to be brutally tortured and have the flesh flayed off your back if Arthur doesn’t show up.’”

“Is that what he threatened to do?”

“What?”

Arthur looks angry again. Scratch that, Arthur looks like a bear that’s spent a month at the tavern and now has the mother of all hangovers. Merlin doesn’t think that incandescent rage is directed at him, this time. He thinks. 

“Did he threaten,” Arthur grits out, “to flay the skin off your back?”

“Like, once,” Merlin says, trying to be cool and casual when he actually feels like he just swallowed a bunch of snakes. “That was the only time he was specific, the rest of the time he just threw the word torture around.”

The vein in Arthur’s forehead is throbbing. Merlin never thought that this would be what caused it.

Arthur lets out a deep breath. “I need to get back to Camelot. We need to warn my father. And I need to find out who in the castle is working with Archer. They’re going to get suspicious when - when Archer doesn’t return back to the castle after a couple of days.”

Arthur pushes off the bed, reaching for his armour. Merlin takes the hint and collects their plates. There’s no way that Arthur is going to let him help with his armour; their little brainstorming session doesn’t mean they’re back on speaking terms. That was purely business; Arthur is a strategist, tactician first. None of that conversation has actually broken the ice.

Merlin heads down to collect Arthur’s horse from the stables. The stable door creaks and he jumps, but there’s no one inside. Merlin has to take a moment to get his heartbeat back down. The familiar scent of horses and straw helps.

Arthur’s mare recognises him. She’s been freshly shod and she nuzzles Merlin’s shoulder affectionately. He tacks her quickly, lost in the routine of it. It’s a small reprieve, a few minutes of comfort in the middle of a whirlwind.

He leads Arthur’s mare out silently. She must sense his sombre mood, because she lets him rest against her and fiddle with her mane without complaint. Merlin threads her soft mane, braiding small sections. The mare is deep chestnut, with a long white stripe down her nose. Seeing her, such a commonplace sight in Camelot, makes him ache fiercely for his home.

He meets Arthur at the edge of the wood. Arthur begins to stride away as soon as he sees Merlin. Merlin scowls at the back of Arthur’s head, quickening his pace. They’ve only got one horse, but if Arthur wants to walk all the way back, then fine. 

Arthur’s muscles are tense, his hand wrapped around the sword at his hip. Thankfully the path through the forest is easy to follow, but Arthur seems determined to stomp his way through. At one point, Arthur kicks an unassuming leaf out of the way.

“What do you think it did?” Merlin mutters to the mare. “Insulted his father?”

The mare whinnies unhappily. She’s clearly picking up on Arthur’s distress, and Merlin is starting to get irritated, too. Arthur continues to stomp through the woods for a few more minutes, before he suddenly stops. 

The mare stamps her hoof crossly. Merlin can sympathise. 

Arthur whirls around. 

Merlin arches an eyebrow. Maybe one of them will actually ride the horse now. “Are you done teaching the flowers of the forest whose boss?”

Arthur goes from vaguely homicidal to absolutely apoplectic. His eyes are red rimmed and Merlin has the worrying thought that Arthur may have been crying, when Arthur spits, “Take the horse.”

Merlin blinks. “I have the horse.”

Arthur takes a juddering breath. “I know - I didn’t mean - just take the horse, Merlin.”

Merlin looks at the mare for some clarity, but she seems as confused as him. “Okay. Take the horse where?”

Arthur curses under his breath. Merlin stares at him, nonplussed. “Take her where, Arthur? I don’t understand what - “

“You can’t come back to Camelot,” Arthur snaps, and the bottom of Merlin’s stomach drops out. 

Merlin stumbles backwards, the reins slipping from his fingers. “What?”

Arthur’s face is ashen. “_ Merlin _. You have to go.”

Merlin is speechless. Arthur continues, voice trembling. “Merlin, there’s no way you can come back to Camelot.”

His knees are weak, his legs struggling to hold him. “You’re - you’re banishing me?”

Arthur inhales sharply. “No, I - Merlin, sorcerers are _ executed _in Camelot. If my father finds out that you have magic he’ll - “

“You’re banishing me,” Merlin repeats disbelievingly. Within his rib cage, his heart is splintering, cracking into two. “You’re banishing me.”

“I’m not banishing you!” Arthur roars, the shout cracking through the air like a cannon. “Gods, why do you never _ listen _?”

Merlin takes a step back, affronted. “Why do I never _ listen _? Sorry, should I be paying more attention to you exiling me from the palace!”

“I can’t protect you!” Arthur yells, a catch in his voice. “What part of that don’t you understand? My father will kill you, he will light the pyre and burn you himself if you use magic, and I can’t, Merlin, I can’t - “

“I wasn’t planning to use magic in front of him!”

“You've already used it in front of me, you great _ idiot _!”

“To save you life!”

Arthur’s breathing is ragged, the sound caught and twisted into a sob. “Exactly! And that’s what you say you’ve done, what you’ve always done - “

“It is!”

“I _ know _!” Arthur hisses, eyes wild. “Do you really think me that naive? I can see it now, all those lucky escapes, all those unexplained injuries to the odd bandit, the enemy troops that would just trip over air. I just thought we were fortunate. Or perhaps I didn’t want to admit to myself that the reason I couldn’t fathom you out - “

He cuts off, head jerking to the side. Merlin is startled to see tear tracks on his cheeks. “I am not so much of a fool to believe all those coincidences were just that. Solely a twist of fortune. But I suppose I know the true reason now.”

The air around them rings with their screams. The birds are all silent. 

Arthur swallows thickly. “I don’t - I don’t understand why you’d even want to come to Camelot. Why you’d ever stay there when you use - when you have magic. And not just come to Camelot - to be the manservant of the crown Prince!”

Merlin wipes at his own eyes roughly. “For the same reason that you came to rescue me. It’s what we do. Protect each other.”

Arthur closes his eyes. “Is that what we do?”

Merlin feels torn in half. “Yes. Yes, that’s what we do.” He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince, but he continues, words desperate. “It’s why Archer even took me in the first place.”

Arthur wipes at his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s why Archer took me. Not Gaius, or Gwen, or Leon, or - or even Gwaine.” His throat aches from crying, but he struggles on. “He said he knew what I - what we mean to each other. That you would come for me.”

Arthur’s gaze is weary. “How did he know that?”

“Well, we’re not very subtle,” Merlin says tentatively. He’s wary, expecting this to set Arthur off again, but Arthur, as usual, surprises him completely. Arthur, to Merlin’s shock, laughs. It’s small and choked and could be mistaken for a sob. But it’s definitely a laugh.

“I suppose we’re not,” Arthur admits softly. 

Merlin carries on, uncertain what has caused Arthur’s shift in emotion, but gathering speed now there’s no more shouting. “Archer said that the - the servants talk about us. Spread gossip. Apparently we caused quite a stir at that time I was poisoned and you went against your father’s orders to retrieve the morteus flower.”

Arthur focuses on something behind Merlin’s shoulder. He clicks his fingers softly, and his mare comes trotting over. Merlin hadn’t even realised he’d dropped the reins, lost in the commotion. She’s well trained enough that she hadn’t gone far. 

Arthur visibly settles as he leans against his horse. She butts his shoulder gently, and he presses his forehead to hers, scratching her ears gently. When he looks back at Merlin, his eyes are clear and unclouded. “My father will try to kill you if he finds out.”

Merlin swallows. “Try?”

Arthur nods sharply. “He will certainly try. When I - Merlin, when I say I can’t protect you, I don’t mean that I _ won’t _. It’s not a matter of - I would never - “ His brow pinches, struggling with the words.

Merlin takes a tentative step forward. “Arthur, I know the risk. I always have.”

Arthur shudders. When he speaks, his words are blunt, direct. “My father is King. He has an army. There are - at present - more knights loyal to him, than to me. He is - the Purge has twisted him. Even the hint of magic and he destroys it.”

Arthur turns to face Merlin. “I may not be _ enough _, Merlin.”

Merlin takes another step. “Arthur - “

“I would fight for you,” Arthur continues, as though Merlin hasn’t spoke. “Never doubt that. But I’m fearful that - that wouldn’t be enough.”

The world around them is shattered, fractured and destroyed. Merlin and Arthur hold the shards of this new reality, this raw existence where Arthur _ knows, _knows Merlin’s secret, holds his very soul in his hands. Every piece of this new world is precious but Merlin doesn’t know how they mould together.

“And I still don’t know what I think of - this.” Arthur gestures in a way that Merlin interprets to mean magic. “I can’t - I’m angry - and scared - and I. I need some time.”

Merlin nods shakily, hardly daring to hope. “I understand. I - I know.”

“You must be, too.”

“Must be what?”

“Scared,” Arthur utters. His gaze is pensive. “You must have been frightened. All this time, as manservant to the crown Prince. In case you were found out.”

Merlin has no words, can’t enunciate the debilitating fear that accompanies your existence being illegal. 

Arthur must read his expression. “I understand why didn’t tell me.” He hesitates, before adding. “And I’m sorry that you couldn’t.”

Merlin blinks in shock, his mind buzzing. Exhaustion wracks his body and he can barely take in Arthur’s words, could almost imagine that he dreamed them. The connection between them is so fragile, a single thread of string, and Merlin doesn’t want to do anything to knock it.

His eyes are wet again, and he brushes them with the back of his hand. When he looks up, Arthur’s eyes are equally shining. 

They stand for a little longer, gathering themselves; Merlin feels as though he’s collecting new parts, sewing up the edges, smoothing the corners. He is not the same person as he was yesterday and that is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Mostly, he just feels numb. 

Arthur’s transformation happens all at once. Merlin can see the moment he steps away from being Arthur, and into the crown Prince. His shoulders straighten, his eyes shutter, and then he’s ready to take charge.

“Come on.” Arthur adjusts his cloak. It swirls around him. “Let’s get back to Camelot.”

  
  


-

  
  


The ride back is mostly silent.

There is, of course, only one horse. Neither of them want to walk and it’d take too long, so they end up riding together. If Merlin was less exhausted, this would probably be a cause for never ending anxiety, so many questions about what Arthur will think, what he’ll say, how they’re going to _ fit _.

But Merlin is tired, heart, body and mind, and for once, his brain is equally sombre.

Merlin rides behind Arthur. Arthur mounts first and then grasps Merlin’s forearm to heave him up. Calloused hands slide against his pulse. Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur’s waist. Arthur stills, but only for a heartbeat, before urging the mare forward confidently. 

They make steady progress. Arthur is a skilled horsemen and he navigates through the forest easily. The trees around them are flush with reds and oranges. A lone deer watches them cautiously, two magpies circling overhead. 

At one point, Merlin rests his cheek against Arthur’s back. Arthur smells familiar and comforting, leather and steel and, inexplicably, something that makes Merlin think of the ground after it rains.

“We’re not far now,” Arthur announces, as Merlin’s arms tighten around his waist. Merlin just nods, closing his eyes, lulled by the steady rhythm beneath him. 

  
  
  


-

They make it to Camelot by sunset. The sky is streaked with greys and blues, the sun barely visible in the bleak Autumn sky. 

They dismount quietly. Merlin and Arthur both stumble after riding for so long, instinctively reaching for and steadying the other. Merlin’s hand is hooked around Arthur’s elbow; when he realises, he drops his hand like it’s been burnt.

The return to Camelot has placed the world firmly back on Arthur’s shoulders. He gestures to the side entrance, flipping the hood of his cape up. Merlin resists the urge to tell him it just makes him look more conspicuous. No one takes the side entrance and everyone will be gathered in the great hall at this time anyway.

“I have to make my way back to my chambers,” Arthur explains. “Seeing as I am meant to be gravely ill.” He looks Merlin over. “You should get Gaius to tend to those wounds properly.”

Merlin shrugs his shoulders. “I was planning to.”

“I don’t need you to attend to me tonight,” Arthur says awkwardly. Merlin feels like they’re beyond awkward now, so he enjoys watching Arthur squirm for a bit. Well. Merlin isn’t sure he can enjoy anything right now, so it’s more like a vague ghost of amusement. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sire,” Merlin says finally, putting Arthur out of his misery. (He wishes someone would put him out of his, but no such luck.)

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur replies quietly, and then he’s gone.

Merlin trudges to Gaius’ chambers. It may be the sleep deprivation, the emotional turmoil, or the various cuts and bruises, but being back in Camelot is surreal. Merlin has been gone for barely a week, but the relief he feels is bone deep. 

The door to Gaius’ chamber swings open when Merlin pushes it. There’s a funny feeling in his chest, like a rib knocked loose. He enters the room, looking up as Gaius comes into view. He’s mixing two vials together, but they slip from his hands when he sees Merlin.

“My boy!” Gaius exclaims, rushing towards him with open arms.

Merlin bursts into tears. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


There is a lot of crying.

Merlin is never going to cry again after this week. His tear ducts must be drier than Geoffrey's bedtime reading; Merlin has no idea how there can be even more tears when Merlin has already bawled non-stop like a newborn baby.

There’s a lot of explaining to do, as well. Merlin has to tell Gaius all about the kidnap, then he has to explain about the torture threats, at which point Gaius gets up and pours them both an ale. Merlin doesn’t even like ale, but he drinks it to be polite. It does help with the shock, he thinks. 

Gaius starts dressing Merlin’s wounds midway through the world’s worst bedtime story. He also gets Merlin some new clothes, which is wonderful, as he’s been wearing his own for a week and they are encrusted with blood, dirt and snot. Gaius actually throws Merlin’s old clothes in the fire, which shows how Very Angry Gaius is. 

Gaius actually gasps when Merlin tells him about the handcuffs. Merlin is a little concerned he should shut up now, in case Gaius has a heart attack. “They prevented your magic? I have heard of such cuffs, I wouldn’t be surprised if Aredian had a pair. How did you get out of them? Did Arthur find the key?”

Merlin’s bottom lip trembles.

Gaius looks at him worriedly. “Merlin, are you alright?”

“Gaius, Arthur _ knows,” _Merlin gasps, and that’s when he bursts into tears again. 

Gaius throws an arm around him and lets Merlin cry into his shoulder. He is obviously quite shocked at Merlin’s declaration, as he keeps make aborted movements, as though he’s not sure whether he and Merlin should be getting out of there sharpish. Merlin explains about Arthur’s reaction, talks about the moment by the river, about what Arthur said.

Gaius’ face is sombre. “I take it by your head still being attached to your shoulders, Arthur has no plans to execute you?”

Merlin sniffs loudly. “No, no, he - he said he’d never hurt me. He’s more worried about Uther. He kept saying - I think he’s scared of Uther’s reaction if he ever found out.”

Gaius squeezes his arm. “As am I, Merlin. Arthur would do everything in his power to save you, as would I, but Uther is ruthless when it comes to magic. You must be careful, Merlin.”

“I know.” Merlin takes a sip of his ale. “Me and Arthur - we - there was a lot of shouting. And crying. I didn’t - I didn’t want it to go like that - “ He cuts off, sobs blurring his words.

Gaius pulls him close. “I know, Merlin, I know. But whilst I know this is setting the bar very low, Arthur knows about your magic. And you’re still here.”

Merlin gives him a watery smile. “I suppose so.”

Gaius pats his shoulder, standing up. “You’ve have an exhausting few days. Your wounds are now properly cleaned, which is a good thing. There’s some hot soup cooking, I’ll put some in a bowl for you. Then you can get a good night’s sleep. It won’t make things magically better, but it will make you feel a little calmer.”

Merlin traces a pattern on the wooden table. His nail catches on the wood. “I know.”

Gaius hums quietly. Merlin trails the cracks in the table top. “Everything is different now. Everything.”

“It is,” Gaius agrees, and that helps. He doesn’t tell Merlin everything is okay, or try to pretend that everything will be better tomorrow. He agrees with Merlin, an unwavering source of solidarity, and Merlin is immeasurably, immeasurably grateful. 

Everything is different now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed this will now have six chapters rather than the original four - this is because these two still have so much to work through, and I have lots of fluffy ideas I still want to put in here. And I can't do that until they sort their shit, which is going to take an extra chapter or so. sigh
> 
> I don't know if I got characterisation right in this or not, but my take is that both boys are completely wiped - emotionally, they're a mess, so they're both a bit tearful and angry and uncertain. I don't feel like Arthur would get over it that quick - he has a lot to sort through, he is almost now more afraid? because of the danger merlin is now in 
> 
> does this plot make sense, idk, 
> 
> Oh final note fully aware that the boys have a en-suite bathroom in a random tavern is probably historically inaccurate but I needed it in there for the Plot lmao 
> 
> have a good week! comments are always appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so when I said slow burn I really meant slow burn. hence the chapter total climbing again. 
> 
> hang in there?

Irritatingly, Merlin does feel a little better the next morning.

It’s likely a culmination of several things. He’s no longer kidnapped, he’s wearing clean clothes for the first time in a week, he has access to clean water and regular food. How the little things matter.

Merlin still wakes with a very firm feeling of _ now he’s really fucked it, _but that isn't so unusual for him.

Merlin rolls over onto his back, looking up at his ceiling. He is never going to take his scratchy blanket and single pillow for granted again.

Gaius even dragged the bath tub all the way down the stairs for Merlin to use last night. Gaius is truly the best person in all of Camelot. He’d probably be a boring King, but there would be a lot less death at least. 

Merlin yawns to himself as he pads across the room. The full nights sleep has given his nerves time to settle. Make no mistake, Merlin is still _ absolutely _pissing himself over the crown Prince knowing he has magic, but at least in the light of day he can hide it a bit better. 

(A tiny, tiny part of him even entertains the feeling of relief. Arthur _ knows. _For all Merlin’s fantasies there were parts of him that never thought he’d never get to tell Arthur. In a bittersweet way, one weight has been taken off his shoulders, only for three more tonnes to be heaped on.)

He spoons warm porridge into his mouth, stomach still not that happy, but better than yesterday. Gaius peers at him over his glasses. “How did you sleep, Merlin?”

Merlin blows on his spoon to cool it. “Like someone who spent five days with only gravel as a pillow.”

Gaius smiles. “That is good to hear. But you have been through quite an ordeal. Don’t be ashamed if you have nightmares, or troubling dreams.”

“Like the knights after a battle,” Merlin offers in comparison. Arthur has nightmares sometimes; Merlin only knows because he caught him shouting in his sleep. The sheets were damp with sweat the next morning. They’ve never spoken of it and Merlin’s never caught Arthur again. Which likely means Arthur has just gotten better at hiding it.

“Precisely,” Gaius agrees. “The mind is a weapon all on its own. How are you feeling about seeing Arthur today?”

Merlin pushes his porridge his bowl. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

Gaius hums thoughtfully. “I imagine it will have come as a huge shock to Arthur.”

Merlin snorts. “It was a big shock to me, too. I never meant to break them in half. Oh! Something else happened with the handcuffs!”

He hasn’t gotten around to telling Gaius about what happened in the bathroom at the inn. Merlin tells him now, watching as Gaius frowns in concentration. “It sounds as though your magic had built up after being contained for so long. You use your magic so freely, I’m not surprised that there was a - blip when it was finally free.”

“It was awful,” Merlin admits. “I thought I was going to be sick.”

“What did Arthur do?”

Merlin hesitates. “He sat with me. He asked if I was alright, he didn’t say a lot after that. Arthur - Arthur helped me up off the floor.”

Gaius sighs. “That boy has a good heart. Even better when he uses his head along with it.”

“He hasn’t executed me yet,” Merlin says, with false bravado. “So that’s a win win in my book.”

“I don’t believe Arthur would ever hurt you,” Gaius says firmly. “However, please don’t get kidnapped again, Merlin. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

Merlin can hear the genuine worry behind Gauis’ words. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on a repeat performance. Once in a lifetime is more than enough.”

Merlin has to redress his wrists each morning. Gaius has given him a poultice to rub in beforehand, so he doesn’t get an infection. The skin is healing, if slowly, but Merlin still has a dirty bruise on his face and his lip has scabbed. Merlin bruises easily and Arthur once compared Merlin’s level of grace to that of a baby horse on ice, so hopefully no one will think it’s that odd.

He pulls the sleeves of his shirt down to make sure the bandages aren’t visible - to anyone, least of all himself. Merlin doesn’t need to see any reminders of the past few days of hell. He was too tired to do anything but lay there unconscious yesterday, but once he’s capable of more than just passing out, Merlin is dreading the nightmares he’s going to have.

He says goodbye to Gaius, waving at him with a lot more cheer than he feels. Gaius doesn’t need to worry anymore than he is already.

It’s jarring to be back in the castle. After days of four walls and silence, Camelot is a riot of noise. Several of the servants greet Merlin, wincing at his bruise but not appearing too surprised. Merlin’s clumsiness proceeds him; so does his reputation for picking fights with people above his station. 

Merlin doesn’t drag his feet like a sulky toddler, but only because there are guards watching. His calves are trembling and he takes a deep breath, lifting his hand to knock on the door of Arthur’s chambers. Before his knuckles can touch the wood, the door swings open. Merlin yelps in surprise, stumbling back.

“Merlin!” Sir Leon is beaming at him, curls spilling over his forehead. Merlin doesn’t think he’s ever had that smile directed at him. It’s usually reserved for Arthur, or a particularly riveting amendment to the latest tax law. “You’re back - “

There’s a shushing noise from inside the door. Leon flushes in embarrassment, pulling Merlin into the room with surprisingly gentle hands. Merlin’s eyes fall on Arthur, and he tries to act as though his heart hasn’t just jumped into his throat.

Leon throws a sheepish glance Arthur’s way. His hands are clasped behind his back, but he’s practically vibrating on the balls of his feet. He’s like a puppy that wants to lick Merlin all over, but is restraining himself under the careful eye of his master. 

Merlin never knew Leon liked him so much. Leon is noble, and he’s Arthur’s closest and most loyal knight. He’s probably the only other person in Camelot who worries about Arthur as much as Merlin does. Merlin just never thought Leon really - cared about him. To most of the knights, not Gwaine or Percival, but to the others, Merlin is just Arthur’s odd manservant. 

Leon is definitely glad to see him, though, and he tells Merlin as such. “It’s good to see you in one piece. The Prince was quite - “

Arthur clears his throat loudly. “Yes, thank you, Sir Leon.”

Merlin shuffles awkwardly. He’s not sure how much Leon is aware of, what he’s been told about Merlin’s extended holiday. “How can I be of assistance, Sire?"

Arthur waves a hand. “It’s okay, Merlin. Sir Leon knows.”

“He _ knows_?” Merlin screeches.

Arthur blanches. Merlin is seconds from running back out of that door, because Arthur’s head knight now knows he’s an illegal sorcerer, before Arthur is speaking frantically. “Knows that you were kidnapped! And about Archer! Not about the other thing!”

“What other thing?” Leon asks with interest.

“Nothing!” Merlin and Arthur yell at the same time.

Leon looks at Arthur. Leon looks at Merlin. Then, he looks between them, something dawning in his eyes. Merlin has a terrible feeling that Leon has drawn the same conclusion as Archer did about Merlin and Arthur’s - relationship.

“I see, Sire.”

Leon looks painstakingly earnest. Merlin is going to vomit. He will gladly tell Leon the real secret and confess he has magic, if it will get Leon to stop looking at them _ like that. _

Arthur clears his throat for a second time. “I informed Sir Leon of Archer’s attack on you. He was one of the few beside my father and Gaius who knew I was not truly ill.”

“The other nobles don’t suspect anything is amiss,” Leon adds. “The tournament was enough of a distraction. Truly, I think most of the knights were just relieved they didn’t have to go up against you, Sire.”

Arthur’s lips twitch ruefully. “I’m sure. I will make an appearance at the joust this afternoon, to show the people the illness has passed. In the meantime, we have to stay vigilant. The fewer who know about this the better. I believe Archer had a spy within Camelot and we still don’t know who.”

“I have names of all of the entertainers.” Leon shakes his head. “Though it could be any of them.”

“Or none of them,” Arthur sighs. “We can’t rule out someone within Camelot inviting the entertainers here for this very reason.”

The fate of the kingdom weighs heavily on Arthur’s shoulders; Merlin can see it as clearly as though it was outlined in front of him.

His own shoulders slump in sympathy; Merlin knows all too well the pressure of a destiny you never asked for.

Leon turns to Merlin. “I know they kidnapped you to get to the crown, but what was his motive? The more we know about Archer, the better chance we have of catching his accomplice.”

Merlin fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt. “He said Uther killed his parents. He wanted to kill Arthur as revenge. He was planning to ambush Arthur when he arrived to help me.”

“Why did Uther kill his parents?”

Merlin hesitates, but Arthur interrupts. “I need to meet with King. We can discuss this more later.”

Leon tilts his head respectfully. “Sire.”

“In the meantime, keep alert. Report any odd behaviour, anyone acting suspiciously. Not just entertainers, the nobles too. No one else is to know about this.” 

Arthur stands up from his desk, striding around to the front. “Merlin and I will meet with the King. This needs to be handled with discretion; my father has enough to handle with the tournament. It would be better if he only knows what is necessary for now.”

Leon doesn’t falter. Partly because Arthur is the Prince, but partly because they all know how Uther can get. If he suspects a spy in the court, he will not hesitate in ripping the castle apart to find them. And he won’t care how many innocent people are wrongly suspected and imprisoned.

Especially if he thinks magic is involved.

Arthur dismisses Leon and then follows him out of the room. Merlin follows _ him, _because Arthur did say they were going to see the King together.

Merlin trails behind him, fists clenched. Arthur walks quickly ahead, not stopping to speak to Merlin. Arthur isn’t in armour today, no cape either, just a loose red tunic.

His stomach churns the closer they get to the throne room, where Uther is presumably awaiting their arrival. Every click of the boots on the floor sounds like a cannon shot.

Merlin manages one more corridor before he stumbles. He trips over a loose cobblestone, cursing quietly before he rights himself.

Arthur turns instinctively at the noise. “Are you - “

“Fine,” Merlin interrupts loudly. “I tripped.”

Fuck. This is so awkward.

Arthur is looking at him oddly. Not unusual for Arthur, even before life changing magic reveals. But this time there’s something different in his gaze, but Merlin can’t place it. “You look pale.”

“Do I?” Merlin retorts sarcastically, before he can help it, and then winces. His mouth is going to get him killed one day.

Arthur doesn’t take offence, though. He knows Merlin better than that, can see through the harsh comments to the real emotion beneath.

Merlin can’t stand the silence between them. “The King is waiting.”

Arthur blinks before something clicks into place. “Yes, the King.”

Yes, the King, Merlin thinks. Your father, who would destroy me if he ever knew what really happened this past week. Your father, who we’re going to speak to right now.

“We will report to the King,” Arthur continues cautiously. “He needs to know those men are dead. And then we will return to my chambers. I need to prepare for the joust this afternoon.”

Merlin can read what he’s really saying; I’m not taking you to the King to order your execution.

Merlin nods jerkily. For a moment, Arthur looks pained. His fingers twitch, as though he wants to reach for Merlin. He doesn’t, though; the moment passes and Arthur turns on his heel. 

Uther is sat on his throne, reading through some parchments. He dismisses the counsellor stood by him with a flick of his fingers, standing to greet Arthur. Merlin hangs back, clasping his hands behind his back and dropping his gaze. 

“Archer and his men are dead,” Arthur reports dutifully. “They took my servant hostage, but not before he managed to smuggle a message to me. They were intending to draw us out, but thanks to Merlin they didn’t have the element of surprise.”

(This, of course, is a complete lie, but Arthur isn’t going to tell Uther he ran off single handed to save his manservant.)

Uther ignores Merlin’s contributions completely, clapping his hands together. “All the men are dead? A pity, they may have had information on who they were working for.”

Merlin stares so hard at the floor he’s surprised he doesn’t set it alight. Arthur answers without missing a beat. “The men intended to kill me, Sire. It was clear from the outset this was a fight to the death.” 

Uther hums. “I understand. That is just the way of it, sometimes.” 

“Quite.”

“Do you believe the threat is eradicated? I am concerned that the entertainer may have had a spy within Camelot. It seems too convenient he would have sent all his men to fight you at once.”

“It is possible,” Arthur concedes. “We will remain vigilant, of course. The tournament brought many newcomers to Camelot. It would be a clever way to hide in plain sight.”

“You will double the guards,” Uther orders. “And change the usual patrol routes. If there is a spy within Camelot, then they will know our routines by now.”

“At once, Sire.”

“Do you suspect sorcery is involved?”

Uther says it so casually, but Merlin’s heart races at the question. Arthur’s shoulders stiffen. 

“I couldn’t say,” Arthur replies finally. “The men who we fought did not use magic. But as ever we will remain alert.”

Merlin’s gaze snaps from the floor to the back of Arthur’s head. He can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. 

Uther fixes Arthur with an iron look. “See that you do.” 

Arthur bows once respectfully, and Merlin is filled with relief, hoping that’s the end of it. But Uther calls out before Arthur can leave. “And your manservant?”

Merlin freezes, a rabbit caught in the sight of a hound. Arthur’s voice is brittle. “My manservant, Sire?”

Uther isn’t paying much attention, sorting through his parchments. “You’ll reward him for his service.”

Arthur’s shoulders relax minutely. “I will, Sire.”

Uther waves his quill. “Not too handsomely, you don’t want to spoil the boy. And he is a complete idiot the rest of the time.”

“Of course, Sire,” Arthur says, and then both he and Arthur walk out of there are quickly as possible without it being considered running away. 

It takes Merlin a few minutes to calm his pulse. He feels better once they are back in Arthur’s chambers, closing the door firmly as if it can keep everyone in the castle out. When Merlin glances at Arthur, he looks equally shaken, face white.

They’ve done this countless times, gone to Uther and provided a report. It’s not the first time they’ve lied to Uther either; he and Gaius keep the real truth from Uther all the time. Even Arthur has defied his father on multiple occasions. Merlin knows Arthur lied to Uther when Catrina accused Merlin of stealing her necklace. Arthur smuggled Mordred out of Camelot, for god’s sake, all that time ago. 

“You - “ Merlin’s voice catches on the words. “You told the King you didn’t know if magic was involved.”

Arthur is leaning on his desk, back to Merlin. “We don’t know if magic was involved.”

“We - yes, we do,” Merlin argues. 

“Not for certain.”

“We don’t need to be certain! None of this makes sense, there is someone within Camelot who - “

“It’s speculation,” Arthur answers tightly. “And my father doesn’t need to know everything, especially when we don’t have any evidence yet.”

Merlin collapses on the chair closest to him. He knows it’s not appropriate, a servant sat at the Prince’s dining table, but Merlin has never cared much for propriety. “Then how are we going to get evidence?”

Arthur turns to face him. He’s clutching a piece of parchment, which must contain the names of the entertainers Leon had gathered. “There are two possibilities. There is someone within Camelot who was waiting for the entertainers to arrive. Who colluded with Archer. It could even be one of the Lords who was opposing the taxes.”

Merlin draws his knee to his chest, the other foot resting on the floor. “You mean someone planned this? Deliberately opposed the tax laws, knowing your father would have to throw a tournament to appease them?”

“It’s possible.” Arthur shakes his head. “But they couldn’t have known for sure the King would throw a tournament. I lean more towards one of the other entertainers being in on this.”

“Or all of them,” Merlin mutters miserably. “How many names did Leon find?”

“Fifteen.” Arthur hands him the piece of parchment. “Well, twelve. Three of them are now dead.” 

Arthur says it matter of factly, but Merlin’s stomach drops. Three men dead, all because of him. Sometimes, an awful part of him can see why magic is so terrifying to those who don’t have it. 

“They’re going to notice when Archer doesn’t come back. Depending on what he’s told them, they’ll put the pieces together when they see my bruised face.”

“I’m attending the tournament this afternoon. It’s important we continue on as normal, act as though the threat is over - “

“You want to draw them out,” Merlin concludes. “Let them think we’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. That we don’t suspect anyone else is involved.”

“Exactly.”

Merlin sighs, resting his cheek on his knee. He can tell Arthur’s watching him, wary. Neither of them know how to act around the other anymore. Merlin was feeling more refreshed this morning, but now he just feels exhausted all over again. 

“You were anxious.” Merlin lifts his head. There’s a slight flush over Arthur’s cheeks, but he continues nonetheless. “Before. When we were going to meet my father.”

For someone who never wants to talk about his feelings, Arthur’s doing a pretty good job at poking at an open wound. 

“Well.” Merlin can’t think of anything clever to say. He decides on the truth, because it’s not like it can get him into anymore trouble. “The constant threat of execution will do that to you.”

Arthur walks over to the table, pulling out a chair. It screeches against the stone. He straddles the chair from behind, resting his arms over the back. Merlin tries not to see it as another barrier between them, the wooden back of the chair protecting Arthur’s vulnerable front, shielding his chest, heart, ribs.

“Is that how you feel?” Now Arthur has decided to speak, he apparently can’t stop. “Like you’re walking around in constant fear?”

Merlin swallows. “I mean, not - “

Arthur interrupts. “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. You never have before. Tell me what it’s really like.”

The world is quiet around them. Merlin chooses his words carefully, and when he finally speaks, he knows he couldn’t have chosen anything different. “The very first day I came to Camelot, I was so excited. I had never seen a city so big. I had never seen so many _ people. _And I remember getting to the square and there were all these people gathered. And for a moment I thought it was a big announcement, something exciting. A tournament or a feast or - something. I didn’t know a lot about what happened in a palace. Not back then.”

Merlin shakes his head. “But it was an execution. That was my first memory of Camelot. Someone being executed. Someone like me.”

Merlin blinks and is surprised to find his eyes are wet. He wipes at his face, embarrassed.

Arthur’s voice is quiet. “How many sorcerers do you think there are in Camelot?”

“I - I don’t know.”

“Some will be men like you.”

Merlin catches on. “Yes. Women, too. Maybe even - even children.”

“Like Mordred.”

Merlin’s throat tightens. “Yes, like Mordred. But he was a druid, there are several children within the druid camps.”

“And you were - you were a child. When you gained your - your - “

“I was a baby,” Merlin corrects, giving Arthur an out. He still can’t say the word. “I was born with magic. It's rare, but not unheard of. I doubt there are many parents in Camelot teaching their children magic. So any children with magic in Camelot are probably born with it. Maybe. Perhaps. I mean, I haven’t met any.”

“Camelot should be a safe and peaceful kingdom.” Arthur’s voice is hollow. “Everything I do is to protect my people, to ensure they have a just and prosperous future. How can that apply to some of its’ citizens, but not the rest?”

Arthur’s question is rhetorical. Merlin doesn’t have any answers to give, anyway. Arthur looks lost, eyes fixed on something Merlin can’t see.

“I was frightened,” Arthur murmurs. Merlin startles, gaze snapping to Arthur’s eyes. His eyes are blazing blue. “There was a moment, when I realised you and my father were in the same room, and I just couldn’t - “

Arthur cuts off abruptly. He’s still staring at Merlin, gaze fierce. “He can never know, Merlin.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling him.”

“You weren’t planning on telling _ me _.”

“I didn’t _ tell _you, I - “

“Murdered three people in front of me with the power of your mind.”

Merlin scowls. “I didn’t plan on doing that.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “So you have some sense of preservation at least. Who else knows? I presume Gaius does?” At Merlin’s lock of shock, Arthur scoffs. “There’s no way you’ve stayed alive this long without some help. Now that I think of it, it’s always one of you that’s involved in the latest trouble.”

“I didn’t tell Gaius.”

“So he found out through the same way I did, catching you red handed.” Arthur grins triumphantly at Merlin’s silence. The grin only lasts a heart beat before Arthur’s face grows sombre. “You have to be more careful.”

Merlin closes his eyes. “I know. It’s all anyone tells me.”

Merlin is very tired of being careful.

When Merlin opens his eyes again, Arthur is watching him. He looks as miserable and uncertain as Merlin feels. And Merlin has no idea how to comfort him, has no idea whether Arthur even wants his comfort. He has no idea what Arthur wants from _ him _ anymore, only that Arthur doesn’t want him _ dead _. 

“I can’t talk about this anymore,” Arthur decides abruptly. He climbs off the chair, walking towards his desk. “I need to get ready for the joust this afternoon, I don’t even know half the names of whose left, given that I dropped out.” He waves a hand. “We will talk about this more, just - not now.”

Merlin sits up straight. “But we are going to talk about this? Me and you?”

“Yes, me and you,” Arthur mutters, refusing to look at him. “Shut up, Merlin.”

“You just said we were going to talk,” Merlin points out. “About feelings, no less.”

“Shut up.”

“You hate talking about feelings.”

Merlin is pretty certain Arthur mumbles under his breath, “Stop causing me to have them, then.” 

It’s probably just wishful thinking. 

  
  


-

  
  


Merlin thought things were going better between him and Arthur, but after their talk it’s as though they take five steps back again.

Arthur watches the joust that afternoon with Uther, Merlin dutifully stood behind him in the royal box. Arthur is back to acting as though he and Merlin are a regular servant and prince.

It’s awful. 

Arthur doesn’t make bets with Merlin about who is going to win the next match. He doesn’t tease Merlin about having to look away when one of the knights goes toppling to the ground. He doesn’t buy Merlin a candied apple from one of the vendors who come round during the break, whilst the broken lances are cleared off the pitch.

In return, Merlin doesn’t make snide comments to Arthur about the other competitors. He doesn’t bring Arthur his leather gloves, because Arthur doesn't moan about his hands being cold, even though his knuckles are white. Merlin doesn’t even share a proud, if exasperated, look when Gwaine wins his match in his usual theatrical manner.

(On reflection, Merlin can perhaps understand what Archer was talking about.)

The joust ends and Uther congratulates the winner. Merlin scans the crowd, the sea of cheering faces, nerves on edge. Arthur dismisses him with professional efficiency, and Merlin, for the first time in forever, has an early night.

  
  


-

Gwaine catches up with him the next morning.

Merlin is down in the armoury, preparing Arthur’s ceremonial sword for the ball tonight. It’s a huge waste of time in Merlin’s opinion, as Arthur will only wear it for the beginning of the ball, whilst the guests arrive and are welcomed in. Following that, Arthur will hand it over to Merlin, to put it somewhere safe.

Dancing with swords is inadvisable, to say the least.

This does not mean Arthur won’t be armed; Arthur is always armed and Merlin suspects he has at least three knives on him at all times. Merlin once caught Arthur trying to smuggle an axe into his jacket, which Merlin really had to draw the line at. 

Merlin didn’t sleep well last night, woke early from the middle of a nightmare about Archer. It had been dark, and claustrophobic, and Merlin had been sweating when he had finally wrestled awake. 

He’s trying not to think about it this morning, weapon a comforting weight in his hands. He does feel a little more at ease with a sword in his hands. A little. Not enough to stop the ghost of shivers down his spine.

Gwaine beams when he sees Merlin, falling down beside him and slapping him on the back. “Merlin! I haven’t seen you in far too long. Arthur has been keeping you cooped up, eh? Waiting on the princess hand and foot, whilst he recovered from his cold.”

Merlin is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to snap at Gwaine to _ go away. _He’s immediately ashamed of the feeling. He’s tired and on edge, and Gwaine is only trying to be kind. He doesn’t deserve to have Merlin take his sour mood out on him. 

Merlin grimaces in a poor attempt of a smile. “Yes. But Arthur is all recovered now. Back to work as usual.”

“I can see that.” Gwaine gestures to the sword. “That’s for tonight, isn’t it? To go with Arthur’s ball gown.”

“It really brings out his eyes,” Merlin deadpans, and Gwaine laughs. 

“We did miss you, though. I didn’t see you once.” Gwaine frowns suddenly. “Where did that bruise come from?” When Merlin doesn’t answer immediately, Gwaine draws his own sword. “Surely Arthur didn’t - “

“No!” Merlin says quickly. “No, I tripped. Banged my cheekbone, split my lip whilst I was at it.”

Gwaine looks more reassured, though his eyes are still wary. “What did you fall on?”

“Hit the table,” Merlin lies.

“I’m surprised Arthur didn’t challenge the table to a duel,” Gwaine jokes. Merlin frowns at him, not understanding, but Gwaine is still talking. “Seriously though, what’s wrong with you? You looked proper miserable when I walked in.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“You were looking at that sword like you wanted it to run you through,” Gwaine says bluntly. “Come on, Merlin. You looked miserable during the joust yesterday, too. I saw you and Arthur when I was about to go on. Stood as far apart as possible.”

Merlin polishes the hilt of the sword with more force than necessary. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gwaine swears loudly. “You and Arthur have had an argument, haven’t you?”

“What?” Merlin asks incredulously, but is interrupted by Percival walking through the door.

“Hello, Merlin,” Percival greets him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Percy,” Gwaine announces loudly. “Merlin and Arthur have had an argument.”

Merlin sighs. “We haven’t - “

Percival has gone pale. “No.”

“_Yes _.”

Percival whirls to look at Merlin. “What did he do?”

Merlin scowls at them both. “We haven’t had an argument.”

Gwaine ignores Merlin completely. “We should tell Leon.”

Percival eyes Merlin critically. “How bad an argument was it?”

“Neither of you are listening to me - “

“They didn’t even speak to each during the tournament yesterday,” Gwaine says accusingly. 

Percival actually gasps. Merlin is going to stab somebody.

“Do you remember the incident with the visiting princess a few months ago?” Gwaine groans. “I couldn’t feel my entire lower body after the drills Arthur made us do, if this is as bad as that - “

“Stop talking about me as though I’m not here!” Merlin shouts. “Arthur and I are getting on perfectly fine. We are not arguing about anything, at all, everything is going wonderfully and you can all butt out!”

Gwaine and Percival stare at him pityingly. After a moment, Percival reaches forward and pats Merlin’s shoulder gently. “It’s okay, Merlin. Let it out if you need to.”

Gwaine nods sympathetically. “I know Arthur can be a total f - “

“Ugh!” Merlin slams his cloth down on the bench. It takes away the drama a bit, but Merlin is too incensed to care. “There is nothing wrong between me and Arthur! Just because we’re not talking as much, or - or standing that close together, it doesn’t mean we’ve fallen out! I mean, do Arthur and I talk that much anyway?”

Percival and Gwaine blink at him.

“Don’t answer that!” Merlin snaps. He snatches up Arthur’s sword, brandishing it angrily. “You two are doing my head in.”

He storms out of the armoury, ignoring Percival’s shout of, “We’re here for you, Merlin!”

Merlin fumes all the way to Arthur’s chambers about how angry he is at the knights for thinking he’s angry at Arthur, when really he’s angry at the knights for thinking that in the first place. 

He’s not angry at Arthur. He’s _ not _. Merlin will be the first one to admit everything has gone to shit, but that’s not Arthur’s fault. If his rage should be directed at anyone, it’s at Uther, for causing all this, for letting his hatred destroy everything in his path. For creating this world where Merlin and Arthur must always stand at different ends.

He doesn’t even blame Arthur for pulling away, for blowing hot and cold. Not when sometimes Merlin can’t bare to look at Arthur’s face, for fear of what he’ll see in Arthur’s eyes. Not when yesterday Merlin was _ grateful _to be dismissed early - grateful to spend some time on his own with his thoughts. He already feels ashamed for how he shouted at Percival and Gwaine, who were only trying to help. 

There’s no right way to deal with this. He and Arthur are both open wounds, raw and bleeding. 

Thankfully, rage has a useful way of distracting oneself. Merlin is still fuming over what happened in the armoury, and it’s enough of a distraction that he forgets, for a moment, how awkward things are between him and Arthur.

Merlin slams the door to Arthur’s chambers open.

In hindsight, it’s pure luck that no one else was inside. Just Arthur, sat at his desk and jumping in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin scowls. “Your knights are absolute idiots.”

Arthur rubs his temples. “What did they do now? Did Gwaine bet away his horse again?”

“I’d forgotten he’d done that.”

“I didn’t,” Arthur mutters. “You didn’t have to convince that poor seven year old to give him his pony back. Why was Gwaine betting with children anyway?”

“He didn’t bet with the seven year old, he bet with her older sister.”

“Oh.”

“And you brought the little girl a new pony anyway. She was quite happy.”

“She was,” Arthur agrees. “What did Gwaine do this time then?”

Merlin, suddenly caught in the realisation that he doesn’t actually want to admit to Arthur what he’s angry about, quickly changes the subject. “What are you wearing to the ball?”

“That’s your job, Merlin.” Arthur goes back to his papers, scribbling something with his quill. “Pick me out something.”

They work together in companionable silence. Merlin can almost pretends it’s like it was before. It’s quiet apart from the scratch of Arthur’s quill, Arthur occasionally reading a sentence to himself under his breath. 

Merlin picks out a deep navy tunic for Arthur, paired with his black cloak and his silver circlet. It’s different from his usual red, but it will make Arthur look sharper. Dangerous. Powerful. 

He grabs a pair of black boots for Arthur to wear and sits down to polish them. After a moment of consideration, he sits by the fire. The Autumn night is drawing in, cold hands sliding through the cracks in the castle walls. Merlin watches how the flames flicker and jump in the grate. 

He polishes Arthur’s sword again after he’s done with Arthur’s boots. He didn’t get a chance to finish it properly. Blue jewels adorn the hilt and Merlin notes with satisfaction that it will match Arthur’s outfit nicely. 

It takes Merlin a few minutes to notice the sound of Arthur’s quill has stopped. He looks up to find Arthur looking at him in open surprise. 

Merlin frowns at him. “What? What is it?”

Arthur looks as though he’s choosing his words carefully. “This is the right sword, isn’t it?” Merlin asks worriedly. 

Arthur nods slowly. “It is. You’re - you’re cleaning it with that?”

Merlin looks down at his cloth. “Yes? Why, is it the wrong one?”

Arthur bites his lip. “No, it’s just - “ He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. As you were, Merlin.”

Merlin continues with his task, bemused. After a while he asks, “Who will you dance with tonight?”

Arthur sighs. “Lady Elaine, I imagine. She is the highest ranking lady of the nobles who have come to court.”

“Is she nice?”

“We’ve never spoken. The people of her land say she is kind, though. She owns a small manor near the coast.”

Merlin smiles. “She sounds nice.”

“She’s sounds perfectly lovely, but it doesn’t mean I want to dance with her. I don’t want to dance with anyone.”

“You don’t like dancing?”

Arthur scoffs. ”What’s to like? Everyone staring at you whilst you try not to step on a woman’s ball gown. A ball gown which is likely worth half my kingdom. I always feel like the eyes of the court are burning into my back.”

“Only because they all want to dance with you, too,” Merlin teases. “There will probably be a line. We should charge, you could make a killing.”

“I don’t need to ‘make a killing’, Merlin, I own a castle,”

Merlin laughs in delight, putting down the sword. “Will you use that line with Lady Elaine?”

“Probably not, considering she has a wife and three children,” Arthur answers succinctly. “Still have to dance with her, though. As a sign of respect.”

“This is how I imagined Camelot would be,” Merlin comments carelessly. “Tournaments every day, balls every night. I never imagined that instead I’d - “

Merlin stops talking abruptly, unable to finish his sentence. Arthur inhales quietly. 

They lapse into uncomfortable silence.

  
  


-

Merlin dresses Arthur later that evening. He is very careful not to touch Arthur’s skin. He knots Arthur’s cape with cautious hands, fingers a careful distance from the hollow of Arthur’s throat. 

  
  


-

  
  


You would never know that Arthur didn’t want to dance.

He looks for all intents and purposes the heir to Camelot. He is adorned in silver, circlet nestled in his hair, rings on his fingers. His dark cape swirls behind him, silver stitched through his navy tunic. He is painted in hues of silver and blue, like Winter, like ice. Dangerous. Enticing.

Arthur is loved by his people and that is clear now; he laughs with the ladies of the court, speaks with the men. His form when he dances is graceful; powerful and controlled, the muscles of his arms evident as he lifts the ladies of the court in a spin. 

The King watches from the high table, lording over his subjects. In contrast to Arthur, Uther is dressed in burnished reds and golds, his crown heavy. In another contrast, he doesn’t go out and greet his people. His subjects have to come to him, are forced to wait dutifully until Uther deigns to speak with them.

Merlin watches from the sidelines. Gwen had brought him some food a little while ago, but Merlin had only picked at the bread listlessly before putting it down. The wine is flowing freely and laughter fills the great hall. 

Merlin’s eyes trace Arthur’s hands on a lady’s waist. Arthur’s hands are perfectly positioned of course, a gentleman’s hold, chaste and light. Arthur spins her gently; Merlin wonders what they are saying. She is one of the newer members of the court and Merlin had seen how the other nobles had been sneering behind her back.

Arthur must have seen it, too. The lady had been doing a good job of holding her head high, but the cruelty of the courtiers hadn’t been letting up. Arthur, in a show of how diplomatic he can truly be, had managed to appear at her elbow just as the musicians had lifted their instruments. To not offer his hand in a dance would have been the height of rudeness.

The dance finishes and Arthur bows. For a fleeting moment, Merlin imagines Arthur’s fingers on his waist. Those calloused hands on his hips, being lifted and spun by powerful arms.

Merlin dispels the thought with a shake of his head.

He looks for the knights instead. Gwaine is trying to convince Percival to dance with him. At least that’s what Merlin hopes those gestures mean. Percival has gone very red either way, and Leon is openly laughing.

Merlin makes his way over to them, intending to apologise for his temper earlier. He’s halfway across the floor when a hand grabs his elbow. He jumps in shock, only to recognise Emily, the woman whose sprained wrist he treated.

“Emily!” Merlin exclaims. “How are you? How’s your arm?”

Emily smiles at him, showing him her neatly bandaged arm. “I’ve been changing the bandages like you suggested. Though it looks like you could use the bandage.”

Merlin touches his bruise self-consciously. “Ah, well. At least I can practise on myself. Where’s Alice?”

Emily gestures vaguely. “Getting me a drink, I think, I don’t know how I’m going to find her in this crowd. I’ve never been in the castle before!”

“I didn’t realise they’d invited the residents of the lower town,” Merlin confesses.

Emily shrugs. “They normally don't. I heard Prince Arthur insisted.”

Merlin smiles. “That sounds like something he’d do.”

“Well, I’m going to make the most of it.” Emily glances around furtively. “I hate to ask, but you - you mentioned you could check my bandages if needed?”

Merlin blinks. “Of course. Is everything okay?”

Emily bites her bottom lip. “Yes. I think so. It might be nothing, but I just. Think it would be a good time to check them.”

Merlin is slightly confused, but he nods. “Of course, no problem. Come by tomorrow afternoon, if you like.”

“Thank you,” Emily says in a rush. Impulsively she reaches forward and squeezes his arm. Then she disappears into the crowd, off to find her girlfriend. The mass of people swallow her up and Merlin loses sight of her in seconds.

Merlin has also lost sight of the knights by now, too. People are getting steadily drunker and he wants some air, anyway. He wiggles his way past the crowd, stumbling into the open night. There’s a secluded balcony on the south side of the castle. He heads for it, praying that he doesn’t stumble upon any couples with their tongues down each other’s throats. It’s happened way too many times for Merlin’s liking.

Thankfully, the balcony is free of any amorous lovers. Impulsively, Merlin makes his way to the edge and leans against the balcony wall. Camelot stretches out below him; from this distance the lights in the homes look like flames, candles spread out across the land.

Merlin slumps a little and crosses his arms on the stone wall, resting his head on his crossed arms. The night air is cool and still. Merlin closes his eyes and feels its cold hands on his skin. The sounds of the party are muted, faded; as though Merlin is removed from all of that now. 

Merlin reaches for his magic; it curls contentedly under his skin. Merlin opens his eyes and when he does there are golden sparks, glistening and drifting up towards the sky. 

A door behind him opens; the noise of the party is suddenly blaring, as is the sound of footsteps.

Merlin jolts, spinning to see Arthur stood there in front of him. 

Merlin gasps. Arthur looks equally shocked, the hand on the door handle letting go and allowing the door to slam. It echoes through the still air.

“I was just getting some air,” they say at the same time. 

They both chuckle nervously. 

Arthur takes a cautious step forward. This is how Arthur approaches him now, tentative and wary. Like he hasn’t decided if Merlin is a weapon or a wounded animal. 

At times, Merlin feels like both.

Merlin settles back against the stone wall. The brick is biting beneath his crossed arms, the cold seeping through his thin clothes. Arthur leans against the balcony, a calculated distance between them, 

“It was hot in there,” Merlin says eventually. The words feel awkward in his mouth. “I just needed to get some fresh air.”

Arthur’s voice is quiet. “I felt the same.”

Merlin glances at him. Arthur has relaxed a little against the balcony walls. He’s looking up at the sky, at the stars above. “You looked like you were enjoying the dancing, Sire.”

“I’m sure I did.”

Arthur looks at him ruefully. “The key to being a good King is never letting anyone know how you truly feel.” Arthur intones the words dully, as though they are ones he has heard many times before. “Open emotion is just another weapon for people to use against you. At least, that’s what my father has always taught me.”

“Sometimes,” Merlin says quietly, “what we are taught is not always right. But we are told it so many times that we can’t remember when we thought any different.”

Arthur sighs. “When did you get so wise.”

“I’ve always been wise, you’ve just never listened to me before.”

He phrases it as a gentle tease, but Arthur’s gaze is piercing. “I’m listening now.”

Arthur is outlined in starlight; etched in silver. He is carved by the night and it wraps around him like an old friend.

Merlin cannot speak for fear of spilling this emotion, this warmth that floods his chest. The yearning that wraps around his heart, this bittersweet ache of wanting to - of wanting to - of _ wanting. _

“I wonder what kind of King I will be,” Arthur whispers, and Merlin thinks _ mine. _

What Merlin says is, “Your circlet is crooked.”

It is, slightly tilted in Arthur’s golden hair.

Arthur wets his lips, says, “Is it?”

He can’t say who moves first but then they are standing chest to chest. They are so close Merlin can feel Arthur’s breath, can hear his inhale. Merlin lifts a hand and cups Arthur’s neck. 

Arthur’s skin is warm. He is trembling.

Merlin lifts his other hand, cups Arthur’s temples, holds Arthur’s head still between his palms with shaking fingers. The circlet is cold, the silver smooth. He straightens it with careful precision. Merlin wishes he could live in this moment forever, but he _ can’t _and he drops his hands.

Arthur catches them. His palms are rough and Merlin’s stomach gives out. Arthur links their hands, wrenches him closer with a desperation that makes Merlin dizzy and then - 

\- the door to the balcony goes flying open.

They break apart so harshly that Merlin’s back hits the balcony wall.

Gwaine stumbles out onto balcony, swaying dangerously. His eyes light up when they fall on Arthur. “Arthur! Come drink with us!”

There’s a clattering sound, then Leon and Percival scramble through the door. “Gods, how fast can he run?” Percival is saying. “He’s not that - oh, there he is.”

Merlin is rooted to the spot; helpless as the scene unfolds before him. His heart is pounding. 

“Come on,” Gwaine is babbling, one arm hooked around Arthur’s neck. He pulls Arthur forward, away, away from _ Merlin _\- 

Percival and Leon are so preoccupied with Gwaine they don’t even see Merlin, curled against the wall like a vine. Arthur twists in Gwaine’s grip, throws a wild look Merlin’s way, but it’s all happening too fast. Merlin doesn’t know what the look _ means. _

And then it all over. Arthur bundled out by Gwaine, Gwaine bundled out by Leon and Percival.

Merlin is left alone with his thundering heartbeat. 

His legs finally give out and he clutches the balcony wall desperately. Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground. He stares at the wooden door as though it will bring Arthur back, as though it will give him an explanation.

Merlin will have to find his own explanations, and Arthur does not come back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to so much Hamilton this weekend. I got a bit teary listening to One Last Time whilst writing the last part of this, I won't deny it.
> 
> I hoped people liked this chapter, these boys are getting there, very slowly, but I would like to write some fluff at some point lmaooo
> 
> Comments mean absolutely everything!! i am dreading this week and waking up to comments honestly makes me so happy


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a difficult chapter to write, I struggled at the start and then I got there towards the end. 
> 
> side note i have - again - listened to so much hamilton this week, i am also re-watching season 3 of merlin, which is peak merlin humour tbh. on a side side note, what season is this set? who knows? why is gwaine in it but not morgana? why is uther king but gwaine a knight? because i hadn't watched the seasons in forever and forgot who was in what season that's why

Merlin leaves the ball pretty quickly after that.

Well, firstly Merlin has a miniature panic attack on the balcony, then Merlin leaves the balcony, _ then _Merlin leaves the ball.

He pops his head into the great hall before exiting completely. It appears that most of its inhabitants have slipped past pleasantly buzzed and are on their way to completely pissed. Merlin can just make out Arthur’s golden hair. Arthur himself doesn’t seem overly intoxicated, but the knights are, and are apparently attempting some kind of group jig with everyone in the vicinity. 

Gwen is keeping a watchful eye on them, as is Leon, so Merlin scarpers. He feels vaguely guilty about it, but his thoughts are heavy in his mind, his heart crushing in his chest, and he just needs to get out of there.

No one notices; they are too drunk to see, Merlin is too insignificant to be seen. He’s just another servant in the crowd.

He slams his bedroom door shut behind him, collapsing on his bed. Merlin pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, groaning. He doesn’t know where to even start with processing what happened tonight. The entire evening has been a whirlwind and all Merlin wants to do now is fall straight to sleep and start the day over.

He snuggles under his blanket, pulling it over his head and giving up on the day entirely. 

  
  
  


-

Merlin needs to tell someone about what happened. In terms of closeness, both emotionally and in terms of distance, Gaius is the first person he sees the next morning and consequently the first person he speaks to.

Or tries to speak to. Merlin is a bag of nerves and he can’t quite bring himself to say what he wants to say. Instead, Merlin flits around anxiously, talking about every other subject possible, ten words at a time, until Gaius tells him to stop talking or he’ll pass out.

“Sorry,” Merlin apologises sheepishly. 

“Merlin,” Gaius says. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Suddenly faced with the opening he wanted, Merlin flakes out. “I don’t know.”

Gaius sighs. “You don’t know.”

Merlin fidgets. “No. Yes. I do know, I just. Don’t know how to say it.”

Gaius clearly has depths of patience that Merlin could only dream of. “Well, perhaps you could start at the beginning.”

Merlin fidgets some more. “It’s uh. To do with me and Arthur.”

Gaius nods seriously. “Have you spoken anymore about your magic?”

“A. A little.” Merlin fiddles with the edge of his shirt, picking at a loose thread. “He said we’re going to talk about it more.”

“Well, that’s encouraging.” At Merlin’s uncertain look he grasps his shoulder. “It is, Merlin. Arthur is taking time to make sense of all this. He’s not just rushing in blindly, like his father does.”

“Hm.” Merlin clears his throat. “Gaius. You know when - You know how the dragon is always saying me and Arthur are two sides of the same coin?”

At Gaius’ nod, Merlin continues. “Two halves of a whole or whatever.”

“A shared destiny,” Gaius supplies helpfully, and Merlin swallows.

“Yeah. What - what way do you think he meant that?”

Gaius blinks at him. “What _ way?” _

Merlin studiously does not look at him. “Yeah, like. In a friend way?”

Gaius stares at him. “You’re asking whether you and Arthur share a friendly destiny?”

“Um. Yes.” Merlin flaps his hand. “Like, if you were going to describe my destiny, how would you describe it?”

“How would I describe your destiny?”

Merlin is seconds away from collapsing then and there from embarrassment, when there’s a sharp knock on the door. A palace guard pushes it open politely. “Gaius, there is a patient here to see you.”

Gaius blinks but acquiesces. “Show them in.”

Emily walks into the room. “Oh, hello,” Merlin greets, last night's events coming back to him. “Gaius, this is Emily. I treated her arm when that cart got loose in the lower town.”

Gaius nods. “I see. Did you want the dressing reset?”

Emily fidgets. “Yes, I - I was wondering if Merlin could do it for me?”

Gaius darts a surprised look at Merlin; Merlin returns the look with his best ‘I don’t have any more of a clue than you do.’ 

Gaius clears his throat. “I’ll leave you in Merlin’s capable hands then.”

Gaius is probably just being nice as Merlin is such a mess today, but Merlin still appreciates it.

“How can I help?” Merlin begins, rolling up his sleeves. He gestures for Emily to take a seat on the wooden bench, which she does gingerly. “You wanted the bandage redressing?”

Emily hums in agreement. Merlin carefully unwinds the old wrappings. “Any pain when you move it?”

Emily is biting her bottom lip, which is why Merlin asks, but she shakes her head jerkily. “No, no. It’s a little stiff but apart from that.”

Merlin cuts a new round of bandage, holding the girl’s arm steady. “That’s good.”

He works in silence for a few minutes before securing the ends of the bandage neatly. When he’s done, Merlin takes a few moments before he speaks. “Why do I get the feeling you didn’t just come here to have your bandages redone?”

Emily is fidgeting with a loose curl, staring down at the table. Merlin puts a careful hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Has something happened?”

Emily sighs. “Look, it’s probably nothing but - when I saw your bruises the other night.” She trails off and flicks a pointed glance to Merlin’s wrists.

Merlin looks down and realises in shock that his own bandaged wrists are on display. He’s been hiding them from people, but he’d rolled his sleeves up before he started working. Idiot.

“Who hurt you?” Emily asks, before shaking her head quickly. “No, it’s none of my business, you don’t have to tell me. But something - weird happened, and I don’t know if it’s all related.”

Merlin smiles gently. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“Okay. You know the night Alice and I walked you home?” Merlin’s stomach flips at how clearly nervous the other woman is. “There was someone watching us.”

Merlin gasps. “What?”

“When we left the house, there was someone lurking around outside. Alice noticed him when she arrived home, it’s why she suggested we walk together, she told me later she saw him too. She thought he may be a thief or a. Pick pocket or something. We’ve been on alert in case the man was planning to come back, but he hasn’t. And when I saw your bruises at the ball yesterday it just - it all seemed a bit - odd?”

It trails off as a question, as though Emily isn’t sure if Merlin will believe her. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Did you see what he looked like?”

“Not really,” Emily says apologetically. “Tall, dark hair. I think he followed us for a while, but he was good at hiding.”

Merlin takes a seat heavily, collapsing on the bench next to Emily. She looks at him worriedly, but Merlin is too caught up in his own thoughts to take it in. “I didn’t know if was related, but then we heard Prince Arthur dropped out of the tournament and it all just seemed - off. And your face - your _ bruises _. Alice told me that there was no harm in speaking to you, but that it would nag at me forever if I didn’t.”

“She sounds like a clever woman.”

“She is.”

Merlin rubs at his eyes tiredly. He’s about to question Emily further, when there’s a knock at the door. Merlin’s head snaps up as it opens, startling when Arthur enters. Their gazes meet and Merlin feels the world stop in the moment; it slows on its axis and he stares at Arthur helplessly.

Then Arthur notices Emily; his eyes shutter and he inhales sharply. Merlin suddenly realises how the scene must look to Arthur; Merlin and a young lady sat close to each other, Merlin’s sleeves rolled up, the emotion palpable in the air. “My apologies, I can see you’re busy.” 

“Arthur!” Merlin pushes up from the bench, the wooden feet screeching against the floor. “Arthur, wait!”

Arthur’s hand is on the door handle, but he turns, a small frown on his face. Merlin speaks quickly. “Arthur, this is Emily. I bandaged her arm a few weeks ago. She thinks - she may have some information about the men who attacked me.”

Arthur’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

He closes the door sharply, the lock clicking, before walking over to the bench. Merlin can see he has a thousand questions, but then Arthur’s eyes flick to Emily again. Emily, who looks pretty taken aback by the arrival of the Prince of Camelot.

Merlin forgets sometimes, because he sees Arthur everyday and because he never really respected royalty in the first place, that meeting the Prince is a Big Deal. Emily is frozen in place, fingers of her uninjured hand clenched in her dress. 

Arthur must notice her nervousness as well. He slows his steps, walking over carefully. He stops beside the bench, crouching down and resting back on his heels. “Hello, Emily. I’m Prince Arthur.”

Emily watches him warily, but Merlin can tell she’s relaxing. Arthur is so _ good _with his people, makes a conscious effort to make them feel at ease. Merlin has seen this scene play out multiple times before; with the young children of the citadel, shy five year olds who have come to watch the parade. With the elderly villagers who suffer the most from Uther’s taxes, with the hot head young men and women who are desperate for something to believe in. 

Merlin’s heart feels too big for his chest. 

“So Merlin has been treating your arm?” Arthur begins gently.

Emily nods, holding it out to show him. “He did a good job.”

“He’s training under the court physician,” Arthur explains. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Merlin is court physician himself someday.”

Merlin scoffs. Arthur shoots him an amused look and then there’s a warm hand on his back. _ Arthur’s _hand, Arthur’s hand that is large and calloused and resting between Merlin’s shoulder blades. 

“Merlin said you might have some information for me?” Arthur continues, and Emily haltingly repeats what she said to Merlin.

Merlin doesn’t hear any of it, because Merlin is too busy freaking the fuck out. The warmth of Arthur’s hand bleeds through his shirt. Merlin feels as though the bottom of his stomach has given out; every muscle is tensed and Arthur must be able to tell, because he soothingly slides his hand down to rest above Merlin’s waist. 

“Do you remember what this man looked like?” Arthur is saying. Merlin tries to focus on the conversation like a functioning adult, instead of focusing on how big Arthur’s palms are when he splays his fingers over Merlin’s lower back like that. 

“Have you seen him again?” Merlin interjects.

“No. I’m sorry I don’t have a lot more to tell you.”

“No, you’ve helped more than you know,” Arthur reassures her. “Camelot thanks you for your service.”

That’s a little much, but Merlin will let him have it. (Merlin would let Arthur have whatever he wanted at this - gods, he needs to _ get a grip.) _He leans back into Arthur without letting himself think about it too much.

Arthur asks Emily a few more questions before he climbs to his feet. His hand leaves Merlin’s back slowly, the warmth of his fingers dragging against his skin like the last embers of a fire. “Thank you, Emily.” 

Emily bobs her head in deference and smiles tentatively at Merlin. “I hope you find the person who hurt you.”

“Oh, we will,” Arthur answers, and his tone makes them both shiver. “Merlin, finish up here, then meet me in my chambers. We need to discuss this further.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Back to business as usual then, Merlin thinks as Arthur leaves. What’s one more potential stalker, intent on murdering the both of them?

  
  


-

Merlin sends Emily on her way, reassuring her that she had done the right thing and to come back if she thinks of anything else. Then he makes his way to Arthur’s chambers. He has just enough foresight to firmly pull his sleeves down. 

Merlin pushes the door to Arthur’s chambers open, blinking when he sees Sir Leon, Percival and Gwaine waiting for him. “Oh. Hello.”

Leon and Percival greet him cheerfully, but Gwaine just grunts in his direction. He’s slumped over Arthur’s table, only the top of his tousled hair visible. Merlin can’t help but smile. “Late night, Gwaine?”

Arthur scoffs, settling back in his chair at the head of the table. “Gwaine, if you could deign to be conscious for this meeting, it would be much appreciated.”

Merlin wanders further into the room, making sure the door is firmly shut behind him. There is a spread of breakfast food that’s been laid out. Arthur catches Merlin looking. “One of the castle servants brought us breakfast. You know, that meal you’re supposed to bring me each morning, every morning. Same time. Ring any bells?”

“I was too busy training to be court physician,” Merlin replies, and he and Arthur share a private smile.

Merlin doesn’t see the point of proprietary right now, not when all the occupants of the room know what he and Arthur are like. He does dutifully pour everyone some water, but he then settles into a seat beside Percival. If Uther came in he’d have a fit, seeing a servant sat at the dining table with a prince and his knights, but Merlin assumes Uther hasn’t been invited to this meeting for a reason.

Arthur clears his throat. “I have called this meeting as a matter of urgency.” Arthur cuts off, scowling. “Sir _ Gwaine. _If you would please wake up.”

Gwaine sits up, blinking blearily. “Alright, alright. I’m awake. I don’t know how I’m the only one with a hangover, though. You lot all drank like fishes last night, too.”

“I didn’t,” Merlin, Arthur and Leon say at the same time. 

Gwaine looks at Percival accusingly. Percival shrugs. “I guess I can hold my ale better than you.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Not to mention he’s twice your size.”

“Shut up,” Gwaine snaps, and everyone laughs. Even Arthur looks amused, though he’s doing his best to hide it, to remain proper and princely.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Arthur continues when the laughter has died down. “Leon, you’re already aware of this, but Gwaine and Percival there is something you don’t know.” Arthur pauses, looking to Merlin, who nods hesitantly. “I wasn’t unwell a week ago and Merlin wasn’t tending to me. Merlin was kidnapped as part of a plot to lure me out of Camelot, to then kill me.”

Gwaine gapes at them. “What?”

Arthur nods gravely. “I went to rescue Merlin and the men involved were - killed. But we have reason to believe they had a man inside Camelot.”

Gwaine waves his hands in the air. “Can we go back to Merlin being kidnapped?” He turns to Merlin with wild, desperate eyes. “What happened? Are you alright? Are those where your bruises are from?”

Talking about it makes the memories of that time surge to the forefront of his mind. Merlin fights down the vivid pictures that flood his vision, bile rising in his throat. His wrists throb uncomfortably and he shakes his head. “I’m fine, Gwaine.”

Gwaine is getting wound up now, eyes flashing in anger. “Who were they? I’ll - “

“They’re dead,” Merlin interjects harshly. “They’re dead and they’re not coming back! That’s all that matters, okay?”

Merlin never speaks so harshly to Gwaine and he can see the shock in his friend’s eyes. The room has fallen silent and Merlin flushes when he realises all the knights are looking at him. 

Arthur’s voice is quiet when he speaks. “Merlin has shown exceptional bravery, and there will be a time, once this is over, to acknowledge what he suffered. But the threat right now is within Camelot’s walls and we need to deal with it.”

Arthur looks at Gwaine steadily, Gwaine’s hackles still up. “I, more than anyone, feel your anger. But there are more lives at stake and I have a duty to ensure their safety.”

It takes a few seconds, but finally Gwaine gives a sharp jerk of his head. 

Merlin’s eyes are burning. He refuses to look at anyone. It’s stilted, but eventually the conversation picks back up.

“Why do you believe there is a man within Camelot?” Percival asks.

Arthur explains all the inconsistencies, Archer spending time away from Camelot, Merlin being unconscious for the entire journey, the fresh horse tracks, Arthur’s horse losing its shoe. It’s Gwaine who addresses the issue in the room, still bristling with anger and hurt, a dog straining on its rope.

“Magic,” Gwaine spits flatly, ignoring how everyone recoils at the word. “That’s what you’re suggesting, isn’t it? That magic is involved.”

Leon clears his throat. “That is one of our theories.”

“It would make sense,” Percival says thoughtfully. “If Archer was making trips out of the city, he would need someone to remain behind. To manage the situation.”

“Exactly.”

“And you don’t think the sorcerer was one of the men that were killed?”

Merlin sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. “None of those men had magic.”

Arthur reaches for an orange, peeling it deftly. “A woman from the lower town has told Merlin she saw a man acting suspiciously, right before Merlin was kidnapped.”

“Do we have a description?” Leon asks.

“Tall with dark hair.”

Gwaine groans. “Great, so that narrows it down to only half the population.”

Arthur shrugs. “We don’t know if the woman was even telling the truth.”

Merlin blinks. “Wait, what?”

Arthur pops a segment of orange in his mouth, white teeth flashing. “I’m sorry, Merlin, but we don’t. She could be lying. She could be the real accomplice.”

“Emily isn’t a murderer!” Merlin protests. “She was really nice!” Merlin regrets the words as soon as they come out his mouth. “Yes, I know how naive that sounds, sorry that I haven’t met a lot of murderers.” 

“Arthur’s right,” Leon says apologetically. “It could be a trap. She could be trying to divert our attention.”

Merlin huffs, crossing his arms. “It must be exhausting to be so suspicious.”

“Yes, but it keeps my head attached to my shoulders, so I can live with that,” Arthur mutters. He offers Merlin a slice of orange. Merlin takes it grudgingly. “So, what’s our play? The description isn’t enough for us to really pin down anyone in Camelot. We could double the guards, take precautions, but I don’t like the idea of staying idle.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “Why are you making that face?”

Arthur blinks at him innocently. “What face?”

Merlin glares at him. “That face that means you’re about to suggest we do something stupid.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. He isn’t fooling anyone. “I was merely going to suggest that instead of waiting for an attack, we - “

“No!” Merlin snaps. “We’re not doing something recklessly brave, like acting as bait - “ Arthur coughs. Merlin glares even harder. “That is totally what you were going to suggest!”

“It’s not like we would be defenceless!” Arthur argues. “We could draw them out, spread the rumour we were planning an excursion from the palace - “

“And just wait to be murdered?”

“I wouldn’t let them actually murder me - “

“I don’t think you’d have a lot of say in it!”

“Sire,” Leon interrupts. “What is your plan?”

“Don’t encourage him!” Merlin moans. Leon flushes. Percival is giving the impression of someone trying very hard not to laugh.

“I am merely suggesting we could draw the sorcerer out, instead of waiting for an attack.” Arthur spreads his hands, as though he’s being totally reasonable, and not a little thrill seeking, noble idiot. “The sorcerer has no reason to suspect we know they exist - my father hasn’t made any declarations, nor has there been any official searches of the castle and staff. Business in Camelot has continued on as usual.”

Leon hums thoughtfully. “And there haven’t been any further attacks yet, which could suggest the sorcerer isn’t bold enough to attack you within the castle walls.”

“Or he just hasn’t had the opportunity,” Percival says. “With so many guards and other people around.”

Arthur clicks his fingers. “Exactly.”

“Or he’s just waiting for the final night of the festivities,” Merlin suggests flatly. “To murder you in the most dramatic way possible.”

Gwaine snorts. “That’s how I’d do it. Give it a bit of flare.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you’ve all considered how you’d kill me, given the chance,” Arthur says snidely. 

“It’s possible the sorcerer may have fled by now,” Percival says. “When Archer and his men didn’t return, he may have cut his loses and scarpered.”

“It’s possible,” Merlin concedes. “But we’re never that lucky.”

Leon’s brow furrows. “Whilst I don’t like the idea of the crown Prince risking his life, it concerns me more that we could be awaiting an attack.” 

Leon purses his lips. “At least we’d have some element of control if we staged something.”

“It wouldn’t be that unusual for you and Merlin to go out on a hunt,” Percival says slowly.

Gwaine makes a noise of protest. Merlin’s waiting for Gwaine to join him on the side of the sane, when something bizarre happens. Gwaine opens his mouth to speak, but Percival nudges him in the side. Gwaine looks at Percival. Percival looks at Gwaine. They then apparently have a telepathic conversation, because Gwaine turns to Arthur and says, “I agree.”

“What?” Merlin screeches.

Gwaine reaches for a bread roll, spreading it with copious amounts of butter. “I agree with Arthur and Merlin spending time together alone in the woods.”

Merlin flushes. Gwaine ignores him and shoves some bread into his mouth. He cuts a look at Arthur, but Arthur is leaning towards Leon. 

“If we’re going to do this, we need to plan it properly.” Arthur and Leon bow their heads together, hashing out the details. 

Merlin grabs a piece of bread and eats it angrily. Personally, he thinks Arthur using himself as bait for a sorcerer who may or may not exist, who may or may not attack them, is needlessly complicated. On the other hand, there is no way Arthur is going to sit around in wait. Arthur can do the long game, is a skilled tactician, but he won’t do that now. Not if the threat is in the castle, is in Camelot.

Not where Merlin is involved.

Arthur’s not completely stubborn, he’s not bullheaded enough that he’d rush in and put peoples lives at risk. He just often doesn’t hold his own life in that regard, not in comparison to the lives of his people.

Arthur and the knights hatch a plan between them. Merlin mostly listens and picks at the food. Sometimes he offers comments, suggestions, adds what details he remembers. 

He doesn’t want to admit it but the mention of his kidnap has rattled him. It’s not as though Merlin had forgotten what happened; he’s just been doing a pretty good job of shoving it to the back of his brain.

They finally agree that Merlin and Arthur will go on a hunt tomorrow morning. They’re right that it’s not exactly out of character, Merlin has long since learned that being royalty means you can do what you want. Merlin will ask the kitchen to make up a picnic, which is an efficient way of spreading the message among the servants.

He gets up from the table once they’re finalising details, clearing the plates away and placing them on the tray. There’s a basket of clean clothes to be folded and Merlin makes a start on those.

Arthur dismisses the group and they all troop out. Gwaine hangs back, stopping in front of Merlin. Merlin arches an eyebrow and continues folding Arthur’s socks.

Gwaine reaches out and clasps Merlin’s shoulder. “I owe you a drink at the tavern.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You owe me more than _ one _drink.”

“Yeah, well. Put it on my tab.”

Gwaine cups the back of Merlin’s neck, squeezing once before letting him go, leaving Merlin alone with Arthur. 

It should probably be more awkward than it is, given the almost kiss and the back touching and Merlin’s reveal that he has magic even though that’s completely outlawed in Camelot.

It should be awkward, but Merlin doesn’t have enough emotional energy to feel awkward right now. Instead what Merlin says is, “This plan is never going to work.”

Arthur leans against the wooden pillars of his bed, arms crossed. “Always the vote of confidence.”

“Why would you even agree to this?” Merlin asks, folding Arthur’s shirt with an anger it does not deserve. “Wandering into the woods, in the hopes a sorcerer will be following behind.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “We’ve made a plan, the knights will be hidden around the forest. They’ll be waiting to step in if we need them.”

Merlin snorts. “And the knights are going to defeat a rogue sorcerer.”

“They won’t,” Arthur says coolly, “but you will.”

Merlin freezes. 

Arthur arches an eyebrow. His posture is confident, relaxed. He has one foot crossed in front of the other, head slightly tilted back as he appraises Merlin from under his lashes. 

The fabric is creased under his hands from where his fingers are clenching it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Arthur begins softly, “about how many times you’ve saved my life.”

Merlin’s throat is tight. His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “More times than you know.”

“When was the first?” Arthur shakes his head. “No, I know that. When you pushed me out of the way of that dagger. Or was there more to that story?” 

“She tried to kill you before that,” Merlin admits. “So I dropped a chandelier on her. When everyone was asleep.”

“She used an enchantment. But it didn’t affect you. Because you’re magic?” Arthur guesses, and Merlin nods. “So you saved my life twice that day.”

For something to do with his hands, Merlin picks up the discarded shirt.

“And then there was Valiant after that.” Arthur is hesitant with his words, picking them carefully, as though he is reassessing all these scenes in his heads, unpicking all the loose ends, all the pieces that didn’t make sense. “It was you who enchanted his shield? To reveal the snakes.”

They both know the answer to that, so Merlin doesn’t bother voicing a reply. He’s so focused on his task that he startles when he realises Arthur has crossed the room on nearly silent feet. He’s stood in front of Merlin now, close enough that Merlin can see the light freckles that are scattered over the bridge of Arthur’s nose. 

“And that’s what you’ll do on the hunt, isn’t it?” Arthur presses. “If the sorcerer does show. You’ll protect me.”

Merlin feels as though he’s standing on the edge of the precipice; his heart pounding in his chest, his toes curled in anticipation of a fall. Or a jump. “I will.”

“I don’t know how to even begin to repay you,” Arthur says, and it’s not what Merlin expected him to say at all. Merlin looks up, surprised to see a myriad of emotions flickering over Arthur’s face, sadness, shame, worry. Guilt.

“Arthur, no!” Merlin drops the shirt, leaning forward. “I don’t do it for reward, or for - “

“But you’ve had to live in fear,” Arthur interjects harshly. “Maybe my father lit the pyres, but I stood by and watched - “

“You’ve tried to stop it!” Merlin protests, because Arthur has. Sometimes. He certainly doesn’t blindly follow his father when he thinks something is wrong. “You helped save Mordred! And Gaius - you - “

“No, this isn’t about me,” Arthur interrupts. He looks resolute now, jaw set. “This isn’t me trying to make myself feel better, by letting you defend me. I’m not going to - it’s you who should be listened to, it’s you who have suffered. I didn’t say that to - to try to defend myself, or make you pity me. I just wanted you to know that I regret what I’ve let happen. And I’m sorry it took someone close to me to realise that, but I do now. I take full responsibility for my actions. And I will be better from now on.”

Merlin gazes at him, helpless in the affection he feels for this man. Arthur’s eyes are slightly damp and Merlin wants to hold him. Wants to throw his arms around Arthur, tuck his head into the curve of his neck, curl around his heart and never leave. 

“Thank you,” he says finally, unsure if they are the right words. They can’t be the wrong ones, because Arthur nods and sets his shoulders. “I will - I will keep you to your promise.”

And then, because the urge to touch Arthur is overwhelming, he lifts a hand to cup Arthur’s cheek. His fingers are trembling and Arthur lifts his own hand to steady Merlin’s, leans into his touch and presses an open mouthed kiss to his palm. Merlin shivers at the feel of Arthur’s mouth, Arthur’s eyes darkening.

There’s a clatter from the hall outside. Neither of them separate, but it’s a reminder of the world outside that has continued to spin, all the things that need to be done, that won’t be ignored because Merlin has fallen in love. 

Arthur exhales and Merlin laughs, running a thumb over Arthur’s cheekbone before dropping his hand. “Shall I add that to the things we need to talk about?”

Arthur huffs a list. “Evidently there will be a list.”

“I’ll make a start on that then.”

“See that you do.”

“Yes, Sire.”

And then they just stand there for a few more heartbeats, smiling shyly at each other, Merlin feeling dizzy and tender. Eventually Arthur coughs and Merlin mutters something, though he’ll never remember later what it was, and they both leave, Arthur to run his kingdom and Merlin to clean Gaius’ leech tank. Which Merlin would argue is equally important and which he does with the stupidest grin on his face. 

  
  


-

  
  


“Do you have a plan?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“Yes, we’ve been over the plan.”

“We haven’t,” Merlin argues, shaking his head. He squeezes his thighs, urging his horse forward. Arthur has started this irritating habit of just riding off when he doesn’t want to answer Merlin’s questions. Jokes on him because Merlin always has questions and Arthur’s horse has to tire at some point. “Tell me again.”

Arthur sighs, one hand loosely grasping the reins, the other smoothing his horse’s neck. “We ride into the forest. The sorcerer attacks us. You and/or the knights attack him. We all go home.”

“That’s not a plan,” Merlin protests. “That’s just - title headings.”

Merlin can see Arthur mouthing the words ‘title headings’ to himself. 

“Why do I have to come up with a plan?” Arthur asks, nudging his horse to direct her towards the woods. “If you’re so concerned.”

“Because you’re the prince.”

“And you’re the sorcerer.”

“Arthur!” Merlin hisses, looking around frantically. He’s still not used to Arthur knowing about his magic. Arthur isn’t either; though Arthur is very definitely Trying His Best, he has the look of a man who’s swallowed a lemon and is trying not to wince. “Did you want to say that any louder?”

“I - “ Arthur begins, and that’s when there is a muffled shout, and Arthur goes thundering to the ground. His horse rears, whinnying loudly and galloping off into the distance. Merlin shouts, Arthur’s body lying still, and then he’s yanked from his own horse. 

It must be magic, because no one so much as touches him. Merlin lies there in the dirt, all the air punched from his lungs. A rough hand grabs him around the throat, a body straddling him, and Merlin looks up to see golden eyes.

Golden eyes. Brown hair. Probably tall when he stands and isn’t straddling innocent menservants like a psychopath. 

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Merlin laughs, then chokes as the hand around his throat tightens.

“You murdered Archer,” the sorcerer hisses. “It was either you, or your precious prince, and I have no issue with killing you both.”

Merlin digs his nails into the hand around his throat, subtly pulling his knee up. “Why? Why did you work with him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” the sorcerer spits. “Uther is a murderer. He’s taken countless lives, has led a campaign of fear and hatred that has destroyed this kingdom.”

“Why ally with Archer?” Merlin wheezes. His vision is blurring around the edges. “Archer had his own agenda, but you must be from Camelot - “

“How clever,” the sorcerer coos. Merlin tries to move his limbs quicker, get them in a position to strike, but he’s starting to struggle to think. Where are the knights? “Yes, I’ve lived in the lower town for some time. Uther has many enemies, it wasn’t hard to find someone with the same plans as me. There would have been festivities at some point, it was a matter of waiting for the right moment. And after twenty years, I can be very patient - “

Merlin brings his knee up and slams it into the man’s ribs. It’s enough to knock the man off him, and Merlin rolls to the side, gasping for breath. His fingers dig into the ground beneath him and he can feel his magic rising dangerously. 

“Why not kill Uther before now, then?” Merlin spits, throat hoarse. The other man has gotten to his feet, and he waves his hand, muttering a spell that throws Merlin against the nearest tree. His head crack painfully against the bark. 

“Because I’m not an idiot,” the man sneers. “Too many guards, too many knights, too many ways for it to go wrong. That’s why I caused the cart to get loose in the lower town, to get you on your own - ““That was you?”

“Yes, but then you had to foil that by having your own escort to the castle.” Merlin notes with satisfaction he’s clutching his ribs. “But I have you on your own now - “

“He’s not alone,” a voice calls from behind them. Merlin turns to see Arthur stood there, sword grasped in his hand. There’s a nasty gash on his head, crimson smeared under his eye. 

The sorcerer is distracted, twisting to glare at Arthur. Arthur swallows, but his eyes are clear. “I am sorry for how my father wronged you and your people. But that doesn’t justify you - “

“Justify?” the sorcerer screeches, and he lunges for Arthur. Merlin reacts instinctively, flinging his own hand out. The other sorcerer stumbles, going flying to the floor. Merlin staggers to his feet, but he freezes at the look in the other man’s eyes.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind.” His voice practically drips with disgust, and it cuts Merlin right to the bone. “I wondered if Gaius had taught you any of his old tricks. How can you align yourself to Uther’s son?”

“Murder is murder,” Merlin rasps, one hand going to his neck. “It doesn’t matter if it’s at the end or a sword or a spell, you can’t - “

If Merlin hadn’t been so overwhelmed, the scent of the blood, the bruises blooming around his neck, he would have noticed it for the distraction it was. As it is, Merlin is completely unprepared for the shout of, “Forebearnen!” His sleeve instantly catches alight and Merlin screams. 

A sword is drawn. There’s the clash of metal and then the sorcerer lays dead. Arthur sheaths his sword. It’s red. 

Merlin collapses to his knees, clutching his arm. Arthur is at his side instantly, hands on Merlin’s shoulders. “Merlin! The fire! Let me see your arm!”

Arthur yanks Merlin’s sleeve up; the skin is a bright pink, but thankfully it’s nothing worse. No sign of burns. Arthur stares at Merlin, then reads his own answer in Merlin’s eyes. “Your own magic protected you? From being burnt?”“I think so,” Merlin answers shakily. “Arthur, that - this is why we have a plan!”

Arthur squeezes his shoulders. “I know, I didn’t expect - “

“He was so angry,” Merlin babbles. His hands go to his throat, shuddering at the feel of someone else’s grip on his neck. “So angry at Uther, I didn’t think he would - he took me by surprise - “

“Merlin - “

Arthur is still talking, but it’s as though he’s underwater. Merlin doesn’t know why he’s so upset; it’s not as though he hasn’t been attacked before, fought beside Arthur in close contact. But this time Merlin could use his magic, and it still wasn’t enough, he was caught so off guard that he - 

“Merlin,” Arthur repeats firmly, and then he pulls Merlin into a hug.

It takes Merlin an embarrassing amount of time to realise Arthur is hugging him. Once it clicks, Merlin stops acting like a wooden doll, and actually hugs back.

Arthur’s arms are warm and strong; they pull Merlin against his chest, and Merlin tentatively rests his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. He exhales shakily, dropping his forehead to Arthur’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Arthur murmurs softly, one hand sweeping up and down Merlin’s spine. “We’re both okay. They didn’t even burn your ugly jacket.”

“It’s not ugly,” Merlin responds automatically, and they both laugh, even if Merlin’s is a little wet.

The sound of six dragons crashing through the forest signals the arrival of the knights; Leon is at least trying to be stealthy, but Gwaine has all the subtlety of a punch to the face. He pulls to a stop by the body of the sorcerer, (the body Merlin is desperately trying to avoid looking at), and swears loudly. “You got him then!”

“Gwaine, will you please shut up?” Arthur hisses, tugging Merlin to his feet. “What took you so long?”

“Apologies, Sire,” Leon ducks his head, colour high on his cheeks. “We were deeper in the forest, we didn’t expect the sorcerer to attack you so close to the edge of the woods.”

“He was desperate,” Merlin blurts, his stomach rolling. Arthur frowns, stepping to the side, pushing Merlin’s shoulder gently. He’s trying to hide the body from Merlin’s eye-line, Merlin realises. 

There is a warm hand on his jaw, Arthur’s fingers light, drawing his attention. “Merlin, can you see where my horse went? I can’t imagine she went far.”

Merlin takes the out, slipping away gratefully as Arthur begins a quiet conversation with Leon, Gwaine and Percival. He follows the tracks to Arthur’s horse; she is a little flighty, but calms under Merlin’s touch. 

He leads her back to the mouth of the woods, where he knows Arthur will be waiting. Arthur is holding Merlin’s horse, and something loosens in Merlin’s chest as he sees Arthur stroke her mane fondly. 

“Here.” He trades reins with Arthur, pulling his own close to his side. “Let’s go home.”

It’s blunt and Merlin winces at how rough his voice is. But Arthur just nods and mounts his horse. He waits until Merlin is in his own saddle, before tugging on Merlin’s reins, stilling their horses.

Merlin looks at him questioningly, but Arthur just smiles. “Yes. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two have a lot to work through still, but I think they are getting there? Slowly? They are going to have a big talk because Healthy Communication and finally - with the murder plot out the way!! - they can have That Conversation.
> 
> Idk if any of the plots of this makes sense, fun fact, i wrote a plan on my google docs for this fic ages ago, started actually writing it and went off on a kidnap tangent, only to realise none of what i had written was actually in my original plan ahyjukifjhd so basically if the plot of this is crap it's because i never planned to write it in the first place lmaaaooo
> 
> anyway i love and appreciate comments! I love to hear what you guys think :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are probably typos in this and i am sorry if there are, I will go back and correct them but mostly I just wanted to post this!
> 
> slow burn finally stops being so slow?

Merlin is quiet on the ride back. 

He tries to blank most of it out. It’s a skill he’s honed in the past year and now his talents of repression are razor sharp. He’s well aware it’s not healthy, is well aware that it’s as much use as a twig holding back a dam. 

Something is going to give. And Merlin is just praying he is in the privacy of his own room, huddled under the covers where his sobs will be muffled, when it finally does. 

Merlin is so busy trying _ not _to think, that they’re at the gates of the citadel before he knows it. “Oh. We’re here.”

Arthur’s brow furrows. “Do you have a head injury?”

“Hey,” Merlin objects. 

Arthur sighs, drawing his horse closer to Merlin’s. “I wasn’t offending you, idiot, I was genuinely asking. I heard your skull crack against that tree.”

Merlin touches the back of his head tentatively. He winces when his fingers brush against a sore spot, Arthur’s eyes cloudy with worry. “Ouch.”

“Yes, ouch. That’s what happens when someone uses your head as a battering ram.” Arthur’s horse fidgets and he reigns her in with one hand. “You should get Gaius to look at that.”

“That was the plan,” Merlin mumbles. He feels suddenly overwrought; listless and untethered, his head throbbing. He clears his throat, unsure how many seconds have passed. “You need to go to Gaius, too. Your head.”

Arthur reaches for his temple and Merlin grabs his hand. “Don’t touch it!”

Arthur snatches his wrist back. “You touched yours!”

“Gods, are you actually five? Poking at your bruise to see if it hurts.”

“Shut up,” Arthur retorts, but it lacks the usual bite. Arthur’s gaze is sharp; he is a lot smarter than people give him credit for, and right now he can read Merlin like an open book. “I’ll come with you.”

“No!” Merlin blurts, then feels awful at the flash of hurt in Arthur’s eyes. “We should go separately. It’ll look suspicious.”

“Suspicious to who?” Arthur asks patiently.

Merlin flushes. “To - to the guards.”

“The guards,” Arthur repeats. “I see.”

“It will,” Merlin insists. “You’re covered in blood and I’m bruised as all hell. That’s how rumours start.”

“Rumours about?”

“Murder.”

“Right.”

“Only the guards would see I’m alive.”

“Attempted.”

“Ah.”

Merlin can’t seem to stop himself talking, even though the only thing coming out of his mouth is absolute _ shit_. He doesn’t understand this awful wave pushing against his ribs, whispering in his ear and telling him he needs to push everyone away. Burn his bridges before anyone else can be caught in his flames.

“Merlin,” Arthur says quietly. “I think you may have a head injury.”

Merlin swallows. 

“It’s okay.” Arthur’s tone is gentle. Measured. It’s a reassurance rather than a question, a presence rather than a demand. 

“I don’t have a head injury.” Merlin shakes his head. “I mean, I might. I probably do. More than likely. That bark was really hard. But that’s not why - that’s not. I do want you to come with me. I just. Don’t know how to tell you that.”

The silence hangs heavy between them. To his embarrassment, Merlin feels his eyes begin to burn, and he dashes at them furiously.

“Come on,” Arthur says finally. Merlin blinks at him, not understanding, but Arthur is dismounting. He slides off his horse with ease.

Merlin watches him, oddly aware of the sudden height difference. Arthur hooks a hand around Merlin’s knee, nodding his head in encouragement.

Merlin lets out a breath and slides off his own horse. He’s less graceful than Arthur and Arthur’s hands come up to steady his hips.

“There.” Arthur’s hands are a brand on his waist. The space between them is but a hair’s breadth; they are standing so closely, the horses behind them, that Arthur has managed to carve out a small piece of sanctuary.

Merlin rests his forehead against Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur is slightly taller than him so it works, one strong arm circling Merlin’s waist. Merlin loops his fingers through Arthur’s belt, in need of an anchor.

“I don’t understand why it feels like this.”

Arthur hums, chest rising and falling under Merlin’s fingers. “Feels like what, sweetheart?”

“It’s not even the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Merlin mumbles, because he doesn’t know the answer to Arthur’s question. “It’s not even in the top _ five_.” And isn’t that depressing.

“It doesn’t have to be the worst thing for you to be upset,” Arthur says. “Though for the record, this is pretty bad.”

Merlin snorts, lifting his head to look at Arthur. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Merlin, you’ve seen four men die.” Merlin flinches and Arthur’s grip tightens on his waist. “That’s more than enough to knock your feelings out of control. No one is going to judge you for being upset.”

“I don’t know how I feel.”

Merlin hides his face in Arthur’s collarbone, not ready to look at him. Arthur’s free hand tangles into the hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck. “You know I have nightmares, sometimes.”

“I don’t watch you sleep or anything,” Merlin mutters, and Arthur tugs his hair playfully. “I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.”

“I _ don’t _want to talk about it,” Arthur mutters and Merlin snorts. “But sometimes you have to. Even if you really don’t want to. Or it just gets worse.”

“It can’t get any worse.” Merlin scowls. “Actually, I take that back, though I’ve probably jinxed it now. Things can always get worse.”

“Such a pessimist.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, shoving Arthur away. Arthur lets him do it. (And it is letting him, Merlin may be a sorcerer but Arthur is like. A wall of muscle. It’s truly awful.) Arthur recaptures his hands quickly, linking their fingers together and drawing Merlin closer. 

Arthur gazes at him seriously. “When you do want to talk about it, I’m here.” 

Merlin swallows, ducking his head. He’s not sure what to do with the rise of emotion in his throat, so he follows his trusted plan of lying through his teeth and denying all and any real emotion. “Like I ever want to talk to you.”

Arthur lets him have it, takes the bluster for what it is - just that, bluster, a cover up. He squeezes Merlin’s hands once, before letting go. “Shut up, Merlin.”

  
  


-

Gaius is staring at them both. 

Merlin has long accepted that Gaius can see into your soul. Gaius’ eyebrows will judge you and your contribution to this world, and find you wanting. Merlin has weathered the Eyebrow of Doom enough times to become accustomed to it. Arthur has had his own fair share of eyebrow related judgement, but he looks distinctly caught off guard in this moment. 

Merlin has the surreal feeling that this is one of those ‘meet the parents’ situation. It figures that for them this means, ‘meet my pseudo-father because my real father is a sorcerer and dead,’ and, ‘Merlin can never be introduced to Arthur’s father, who is the king, who would execute Merlin on the spot.’

“Good news,” Merlin announces cheerfully. “We didn’t die!”

Merlin gets the distinct impression that Arthur would like nothing more than to kick him in the shin in that moment.

“So I see,” Gaius says archly. 

(He knows. He absolutely knows.)

“My Lord, you have a cut to your cheek.” It is pretty funny to see Arthur flinch at the formal title, though it’s less funny when Gaius turns to him. “Merlin, what is that on your neck?”

“Bruises?” Merlin hazards, touching his neck gingerly. “The sorcerer tried to um. Strangle me a bit.”

“A bit?” Arthur repeats incredulously, awkwardness momentarily forgotten. “Merlin, your face was turning _ purple. _”

Merlin is about to argue it was a light puce at most, when Gaius interjects. “And where is the sorcerer now?”

There is another tense moment when it dawns on everyone in the room that Merlin’s magic is no longer a secret. Logically, Merlin knows Arthur’s knows, and he knows Gaius knows, and he knows that both of them know that about the other. 

On a practical level, Merlin has no idea how to address this. He doesn’t know if that’s even a conversation he should be privy to. Gaius has known Arthur since he was a child, far longer than he’s known Merlin, but he still protected Merlin from Uther, and by extension, his son. If Gaius and Arthur do have a heart to heart, Merlin is more than happy not to be there for it. 

“The sorcerer has been dealt with,” Arthur says finally, and Merlin tries not to flinch. 

Thankfully, Gaius is as level headed as usual, and moves on swiftly to addressing their injuries. “Merlin, I can make a poultice that should reduce most of the bruising. You can clean the cut on Arthur’s cheek.”

“It’s really not that bad - “ Arthur begins, then, “Ouch! Get off, Merlin!” when Merlin drags him to a bench. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” Merlin mutters, pushing Arthur down. “If it gets infected then your whole face will swell up. The infection could go up into your brain and you’ll die.”

“I know you’re lying,” Arthur tells him flatly. “I could have you thrown in the stocks for that.”

“You’d have done it already,” Merlin says without thinking, then looks at Arthur nervously, unsure if he’s put his foot in his mouth again. Arthur, to his surprise, snorts with laughter, and they both share amused, if slightly hysterical, smiles. “And how do you know I’m lying?”

“Wounds don’t work like that.”

“How would you know?” Merlin teases, straddling the bench to sit next to Arthur. “You’re not a physician.”

“Neither are you, considering you haven’t done anything yet.” 

Merlin rips a bandage off to clean the cut, dabbing it in sterilising fluid. “This might sting.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Just get on with it.”

Arthur, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch, just sits there patiently while Merlin dabs at the cut. He supposes Arthur has had far worse injuries, fighting in battles, that a small scratch barely registers.

Arthur is straddling the bench, and Merlin tilts his head up with the pad of his fingers. The cut is high on Arthur’s cheekbone, curving towards his eye. It’s not deep, but it is pretty nasty. “How did you even do this?”

Arthur grimaces. “I hit the ground pretty hard when the sorcerer threw me from my horse.”

The cut has stopped bleeding now. The skin is pink and sore looking, but it should heal quickly. Merlin gets up to throw the bloodied bandage into the fire and wash his hands in the small basin. 

Gaius wanders back in, holding an awful smelling paste in a bowl. Merlin wants to gag just looking at it. “I’m not using that!”

“You are if you want your bruises to stop hurting,” Gaius retorts. “How hard did the sorcerer choke you? Your neck is already turning blue.”

“It’s not,” Merlin says automatically, even though he actually has no idea. “And even if it has, I’m not putting that anywhere near me.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Merlin,” Arthur mimics, and Merlin glares at him.

“You may think you’re being clever, but you’re not.”

“I’ll do it if you don’t want to,” Arthur decides, taking the bowl from Gaius. His nose wrinkles at the smell. “Gaius, what is in this?”

Gaius rattles off a list of ingredients, whilst Arthur maneuvers Merlin to sit back down on the bench. Merlin lets him do it, only because his neck really is starting to hurt, now. 

Arthur’s eyes are intent, focused, and Merlin’s heart beats a little harder as he realises all Arthur’s attention is on him. They’re sitting next to each other on the bench, legs pressed together, and Arthur reaches forward cautiously. 

His hands are cool against the sensitive skin of Merlin’s neck. Merlin inhales sharply as Arthur begins to rub the paste in, his hands deft, but gentle. He doesn’t even notice the smell now, is too lost in the pressure of Arthur’s hands, the blue of his eyes. There’s something intrinsically vulnerable about their positions, Merlin’s throat bared to Arthur. 

“Done,” Arthur announces, voice hoarse. He withdraws his hand, face flushed as he sits back. 

Merlin clears his throat. The distance between them makes it easier to breathe, to get his heartbeat under control. He can feel Arthur’s fingers ghosting across his neck. “Thanks.”

Arthur just nods awkwardly, before standing up to wash the paste off his own hands. Merlin catches Gaius’ eye across the room; the Eyebrow is doing its thing. Merlin just shrugs back; he doesn’t have an explanation for himself, let alone one to give to Gaius. 

“The sorcerer was working with Archer, then?” Gaius asks. In the time it’s taken Arthur and Merlin to have an Emotionally Charged Moment, he’s produced three bowls of stew. Merlin takes his gratefully. 

Arthur, who had apparently been attempting to wash the skin off his hands, given the time he was taking, eyes Gaius warily. Gaius just sets down a third bowl calmly, then sits opposite Merlin. Arthur must accept that Gaius isn’t going to interrogate him, because he sits down and picks up his spoon.

“Yes,” Merlin confirms. “He attacked Arthur first, then he went for me.” Merlin waves his spoon for emphasis. “He was strong, Gaius! I tried to get him off me, but he was really strong.”

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” Gaius frowns. “Make sure you eat between talking, Merlin.”

Merlin obediently scoops some stew into his mouth, chewing quickly before swallowing. “I am.”

“He had powerful magic,” Arthur says quietly. Gaius and Merlin both freeze, before exchanging uncertain looks. Arthur stirs his stew absentmindedly, apparently focused on his meal. “I was knocked from my horse before I could even blink.”

“And me,” Merlin adds hesitantly. “I didn’t have time to react before he was on me.”

“Well, you’re both safe now, that’s what matters,” Gaius says. “And the knights didn’t witness this?”

Merlin shakes his head. “They were further into the forest, we didn’t think he would attack so close to the forest edge.”

“He was desperate,” Arthur utters, and Merlin startles. Arthur turns to him. “That’s what you said. He was desperate.”

Merlin swallows. “Well, I mean. Yeah.” This feels like a conversation Merlin should think about before having, but he can’t stop the words spilling out. “I think most sorcerers - if there are any left - living in Camelot feel desperate. Seeing your people being killed every day - and he said he’d live in the lower town for a long time. It doesn’t mean that you try and murder someone, I’m not trying to justify it, but. I don’t know. Desperate is how I’d describe it.”

Arthur is quiet. Merlin can tell both he and Gaius are staring at him, but he’s too embarrassed to make eye contact with either of them. Arthur asks carefully, “Is that how you feel?”

Merlin drops his hands to his lap, clenching the fabric of his shirt. “Sometimes I feel - trapped. And a little hopeless. But I believe in the kingdom you will build. That things will be different.”

Arthur exhales; when Merlin glances at him, his shoulders are hunched, his eyes hollow. Merlin doesn’t know what to do, has a vague feeling of needing to comfort Arthur. He’s just screwing up the courage to do so when, without looking at him, Arthur reaches over and takes Merlin’s hand.

He squeezes Merlin’s hand once, rubbing his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles. Arthur, Merlin realises, is comforting _ him. _

  
  


-

  
  


It’s the final night of the festivities and Merlin has never been so happy.

Apparently, traumatic experiences completely mess with your perception of time, because sometimes, the past few weeks are a blur and Merlin views them with complete detachment. Other times, Merlin wakes up and feels as though he’s back in that cellar, shackles around his wrist, hunger gnawing at his stomach. 

Somehow, he’s made it to the last night of the celebrations. Merlin just has to get through one more feast, then tomorrow all the Lords will go back to their lordly empires, and all the entertainers will go back to. Wherever the entertainers are going. The point is that they’ll be gone from Camelot and Merlin can finally relax. Focus on the everyday threats of gryphons and neighbouring kingdoms. Merlin would swap this madness for an overly ambitious princess in a heartbeat.

He tells Arthur as much that evening. They’ve barely seen each other since the fight with the sorcerer and what Merlin has dubbed the Awkward Stew Conversation. As the celebrations draw to a close, Arthur has congratulated the winner of the tournament, commiserated with the losers, soothed over tensions with the Lords, and arranged half a dozen visits to various manors.

They have a small amount of time before the final feast and even that is a case of running on borrowed minutes. Not that you’d know it by the way Arthur is acting; he’s sat at his desk, fiddling with his quill and occasionally scratching things down.

“What do you want to wear tonight?” Merlin calls out, rifling through Arthur’s shirts.

Arthur hums, clearly not listening, and Merlin sighs. “Arthur! You have half an hour before the feast. Pick what you want to wear.”

Arthur scratches something on a piece of parchment. “My father wants me to wear red.”

“Not what I asked,” Merlin mutters, but dutifully pulls out Arthur’s red robes. “And the gold circlet?”

Arthur makes a non-committal noise and Merlin slams the wardrobe shut. “Arthur! I have half an hour to get you ready, or your father is going to throw me in the stocks. You cannot be late. You are not going to be late, because we only have to get through one more feast and then this nightmare is over.”

Arthur puts a piece of paper aside, then looks up. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About what you want to wear?”

Arthur frowns. “What? No. My father wants me to wear red.”

“You are such a - “ Merlin doesn’t have the words to express his irritation, so he stalks over to Arthur’s desk and dumps all the clothes on top of his papers. 

“Merlin!” Arthur snaps.

“Get dressed!”

“I am trying to have a conversation!”

“Learn to multitask!” Merlin grabs Arthur’s arm, yanking him out of his chair. “The sooner you get dressed, the sooner we can go, the sooner all of this is over.”

Arthur sputters as Merlin shoves the clothes into his arms, stumbling behind the changing screen. Merlin ignores Arthur’s whining, sighing in relief. He tidies up the room, organising the papers on Arthur’s desk and tucking in the chair.

Once the room looks slightly less like it’s been trampled by a drunk gryphon, he tunes back into what Arthur’s saying. Which turns out to be a load off pretentious moaning, so Merlin goes ahead and interrupts. “What have you been thinking about?”

Arthur peers around the screen. He’s shirtless, because the world hates Merlin. “You should learn how to fight with a sword.”

That’s not what Merlin was expecting and it’s enough to momentarily distract himself from Arthur’s pectoral muscles. “What?”

“And fight hand to hand,” Arthur adds, pulling his tunic over his head. 

“I do know how to use a sword,” Merlin protests. “Also, I’m a sorcerer.”

“You have used a sword,” Arthur allows, “But you don’t have a lot of experience fighting with one. Only when we’re going into battle.”

Merlin folds his arms. “Because I’m not a knight. And besides I have magic - “

“Merlin,” Arthur hisses, glancing at the door, “Yes, I know, but the rest of the castle doesn’t, so stop shouting about it. I have no idea how you’ve stayed alive so long.”

“Well, I have,” Merlin blusters, because he doesn’t really have a comeback. He’s mostly still alive out of sheer dumb luck. And a lot of help from Gaius. 

“You revealed your magic to me, but no one else knows. If you could fight hand to hand, or had more skill with a sword, you wouldn’t have to risk suspiciously timed fallen branches.” Arthur looks uncertain, eyes wide and earnest. “I’m not trying to stop you using your magic, I swear. I know it’s part of you.”

Merlin must look surprised, because Arthur’s face goes pale. “Merlin, you didn’t see what you looked like with those cuffs on. You were - you looked so - I’ve never seen you like that.”

Merlin shudders, hands unconsciously reaching for his wrists. 

Arthur continues softly. “Your magic is yours and yours alone. I have no say over how you use it, nor should I. I know you use it to keep me safe, but perhaps - I thought this could be a way - “

Arthur is fumbling his words, cheeks dusted pink. He finally settles on the words. “Maybe if I taught you how to fight, you could teach me about magic.”

Merlin stares at him, something warm spreading through his chest. “I could teach you about magic?”

Arthur threads a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t really know anything about it. All I know is that my father thinks it’s the cause of all evil, but the person that I - that you have magic.”

Merlin tries very hard not to cry. “Yes, I - I would like that.”

Arthur smiles, sweet and relieved and _ young _. “Good.”

There’s a knock at the door, then a servant tentatively pokes their head around the door. “My Lord. The feast is starting and the King is asking where you are.”

“You’re late!” Merlin yells, and Arthur, pompous idiot that he is, just laughs. 

  
  
  


-

Thankfully, Uther can’t scold his son like a naughty child in front of visiting dignitaries, so Arthur and Merlin are spared a lecture. This means nothing, however; they’ve only postponed the inevitable vaguely threatening reprimand for the next day. 

Merlin still makes sure to glare at the back of Arthur’s head for the entirety of the entrees. He also doesn’t give Arthur any of the wine he likes, until Arthur slips him a pastry to eat while he’s clearing the dishes, and then all is forgiven. 

The feast passes quickly, which Merlin is grateful for. They were exciting when Merlin first came to Camelot, but he knows now it’s just a lot of rich people talking and eating and pretending they don’t all hate each other. 

There’s a little reprieve whilst collecting the desserts from the kitchen, as it gives him the opportunity to gossip with the other servants. His scarf is pulled up over his throat to hide his bruising, so thankfully he doesn’t get any odd glances.

The banquet finally winds down and Arthur makes his usual graceful exit, thanking the other nobles for their attendance. When they arrive at Arthur’s chambers, Arthur changes whilst Merlin lights the fire and the candles. They wash the room in a golden glow, the candles flickering in the shadows. 

“I’m so glad that’s over,” Merlin sighs, kneeling by the fire. Aided by his magic, it’s smouldering nicely. Merlin holds his hands out, lets the heat wash over him.

To his surprise, Arthur settles down beside him. He’s dressed in a white sleep shirt, hair mussed from the circlet, his edges soft and muted. Arthur sits crossed legged, reaching his hands out to feel the fire’s warmth.

“We are never having a tournament again,” Arthur declares, and Merlin laughs.

“I am never getting kidnapped again,” Merlin announces firmly. Arthur glances at him, reaches out and cups Merlin’s neck briefly. His fingers are warm from the fire, and Arthur squeezes once before letting go.

“When I am King, I will ban entertainers from Camelot for good,” Arthur says.

Merlin snorts. “You will have a very boring reign.”

“I guess we’ll have to make our own entertainment, then,” Arthur murmurs, voice low, and it makes something tug in Merlin’s stomach. When he looks at Arthur, Arthur's eyes are dark, and Merlin gasps involuntarily. 

Arthur closes the space between them; he rests his hands on Merlin’s thighs and Merlin’s tongue wets his lips. Arthur is silhouetted in firelight and Merlin’s stomach flips. 

“Merlin,” Arthur rasps, and Merlin can’t look away from his lips. “If you don’t want this - I won’t - if you don’t - “

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes, and that’s when he kisses him. 

Initially, Arthur kisses Merlin like he is something to be revered; his mouth is hot underneath Merlin’s, his lips soft, and Merlin moans, feels heat flood through him as Arthur cups his face with two strong hands. Merlin kisses back, threads fingers through Arthur’s hair in an attempt to pull him closer. 

The kisses are achingly tender, slow, measured, as though Arthur has all the time in the world. He teases Merlin, keeps the kisses stubbornly closed mouth, even as Merlin whines. 

He couldn’t say what changes, isn’t sure what the switch is, but it’s as though they both realise at the same time that they belong to each other. That Arthur is Merlin’s and Merlin is his, and that’s when the kisses turned heated.

Arthur bites at Merlin’s lip, swallows his moans as he swipes his tongue against Merlin’s teeth. Merlin opens his mouth beneath Arthur’s, helpless, willing, wanting nothing more than to get closer, even closer.

It feels as though the fire from the hearth is inside his chest, his entire body alight with flame. Merlin pulls at Arthur’s shoulders, laughs at Arthur’s huff of surprise as he tugs Arthur down on top of him.

He’s suddenly self-conscious, unsure if you’re supposed to laugh during moments like - this. But then Arthur is pressing their foreheads together, smiling wider than Merlin has ever seen him. 

Arthur settles on top of him and Merlin realises he likes it; likes the weight above him, likes how good Arthur smells, likes the heat of Arthur’s body on his. He slides his hands under Arthur’s chest, feels the way Arthur shivers under his touch. 

Merlin’s mouth feels sensitive and swollen from kissing, but he can’t help kissing Arthur again, curling a hand around Arthur’s neck to pull him down. Arthur reaches up to grasp Merlin’s hair, but he brushes Merlin’s neck and that’s when Merlin ruins the moment by letting out a yelp.

Not a good kind of a yelp, a ‘ouch, ouch, ouch, you’ve just brushed against the painful bruising under my jaw,’ kind of yelp. 

Arthur reacts immediately; he climbs off of Merlin so swiftly that the sudden lack of heat is startling. Merlin is still trying to understand what happened, but Arthur’s eyes are panicked and he’s speaking rapidly. “What is it? Did I hurt you? Did you not - “

“Arthur!” Merlin struggles upwards. Arthur is kneeling a foot away from him, hands clenched into fists, as though he’s not letting them anywhere near Merlin. “I’m fine! You just brushed against one of my bruises.”

Arthur relaxes a little, but he still doesn’t touch him. Merlin solves that problem by leaning forward and kissing Arthur quick, barely a brush of lips before darting back. 

His cheeks are on fire once he pulls away, but Arthur is gazing at him in soft, open-hearted wonder. 

“You didn’t hurt me,” Merlin reassures him. The firelight is reflected in Arthur’s eyes. “I know you’d never do that.”

“I wouldn’t,” Arthur swears, and they're no longer just speaking about kisses by the fireside, 

“I know,” Merlin repeats quietly. “I know.”

Arthur is still keeping a careful distance. Merlin knows him well enough to know there’s something playing on his mind. “Merlin, do you - I - do you really want this?”

Arthur waves his hand in a gesture that is completely undecipherable. Merlin, because he has seen enough failed romances in this rumour mill of a castle, decides to be honest and communicate like an adult. “I don’t understand.”

Arthur, strangely, has gone very pale. He looks very serious for someone who just had his tongue down Merlin’s throat.

“It is important to me,” Arthur begins firmly, “that you don’t feel pressured into - “

Merlin blink. “Um - “

“I know I’m the prince,” Arthur continues, “but I would never force you - “

“Arthur, when have you ever been able to force me to do something I don’t want to?” Merlin interrupts. “I never actually do as I’m told.”

Arthur looks more reassured, but his mouth is still twisted in apprehension, so Merlin continues. “If I didn’t want this I’d tell you, I’ve never been shy about sharing my opinion.” Merlin shrugs. “And we’ve never had a - typical employee and employer relationship.”

Arthur nods jerkily. “Besides,” Merlin adds. “I wasn’t actually joking when I said I could take you apart with one blow.”

“It’s probably being exposed to your insane way of thinking, but that actually makes me feel better,” Arthur mutters. He exhales shakily, shoulders unwinding. “Me and you, sometimes it feels like everything is so unclear. So complicated. We’re not always great at - "

“Communication?” Merlin suggests. 

“Exactly. And this is something I want to be clear on.”

Arthur smiles at him, lopsided and hopeful. Merlin is helpless to do anything but smile back. “Me too.”

Arthur leans forward, resting a hand on Merlin’s thigh as he kisses his jaw. A shiver runs down his spine as Arthur presses hot, slow kisses to the edge of his jaw, his cheekbone. Merlin squirms as Arthur teasingly brushes the corner of his mouth, almost but not quite a kiss. 

When Arthur draws back, Merlin is panting, face hot. Arthur looks all too pleased with himself and Merlin makes a mental note to get him back for that later.

“It’s late,” Arthur murmurs. He holds out a hand and pulls Merlin to his feet. His hair is mussed and Merlin reaches out and combs it into something more presentable. “All the nobles will sleep late tomorrow. Did you see how much Lord Samuel drank?”

“Did you see Gwaine challenge him to a drinking competition?” Merlin mutters. “I suppose it was hard to miss when he tried to pick up that table.”

Arthur yawns. “I’ll make him pay for it when we train tomorrow afternoon. At least we can sleep in.”

Merlin arches an eyebrow. “Oh, can we?”

Arthur’s eyes widen and he stutters. “I - I didn’t mean you and I - I meant we as in - “

“I’ll have you know, I have every intention of sleeping in my own chambers tonight.”

Arthur’s face resembles the shade of a beetroot. “Of course, I was not presuming - “

Merlin leaves enough time to pause dramatically, before exclaiming, “And what would Gaius think?”

He can’t keep a straight face and Arthur finally catches on, glaring at him when Merlin bursts into laughter. 

“You are a terrible person,” Arthur tells him seriously.

“But you like me anyway.”

Arthur shakes his head, trying to hide his smile. “For some reason, I do.”

“I like you, too,” Merlin blurts, then immediately feels ridiculously shy. “And I - I have to go. Gaius really will be wondering where I am. He worries about me. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Arthur agrees, like a pair of idiots that need confirmation that they’ll clap eyes on each the next day, when they live in the same castle. 

“Tomorrow,” Merlin repeats. “Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft boys are soft
> 
> I hope people liked this chapter, fun fact, once again this was not planned to happen the way it is, merlin and arthur were going to kiss later on (even later lmao) but then? it just worked well to have them kiss now and that's what i went with. this chapter is slightly shorter than planned because of that, but i like how it went. i hope you do too. i can't believe the next chapter is the last one! 
> 
> as ever love to hear your thoughts, especially for this chapter as i have no idea how to write romance once ive got to the actual romance part rip
> 
> Arthur Pendragon would be king of consent fight me


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the final chapter. I also can't believe I edit everything late at night, meaning my author's notes are always shit.

The thing is, Merlin has never done this before. 

He’s _ liked _ people before; pretty girls from the village, even prettier boys, riding through on a hunt and stopping the night. None of them ever liked _ Merlin_; Merlin was odd, he was different, and, worse of all, he stood out. Not something you want to do in a tiny farming village.

There’s been the odd fumble, awkward kisses behind the barns, clumsy hands and rumpled clothing. They always left quickly afterwards. Never anything permanent. Never anything lasting.

Even when he arrived in Camelot, there were only a handful of people he flirted with. Half of them wanted to use him to get to Arthur, and even if they were genuinely interested, well. Merlin’s entire existence is illegal, lying about who you really are isn’t a great basis for a relationship.

Which, on reflection, is the reason he’s only now kissing a certain Prince by the firelight. Merlin has been half in love with Arthur for longer than he wants to admit, but he’s never acted on it. Partly because he had never dreamed Arthur would return his feelings. Mainly because lying to a lover is completely different to lying to a friend.

When they were just servant and Prince, Merlin could keep his secret and feel guilty but know it was just a matter of waiting for the Camelot that Arthur would build. And Merlin felt guilty for lying, but not _ that _guilty. Merlin had to lie because the King was a bigoted murderer, that wasn’t Merlin’s fault. He was backed into a corner. It was out of his hands.

Merlin did, however, still have control of pursuing certain romantic feelings, and he never could have done that while Arthur didn’t _ know_. There was no way Merlin could have kept up the pretence whilst kissing Arthur and holding him and learning each other, inside and out. There was no way Merlin could have taken Arthur’s heart when their relationship was built on untruths.

Merlin has seen firsthand the damage Uther has caused his son; he is harsh and cold, demanding. Bullying. Arthur meets everyone of Uther’s high standards but gods forbid he ever challenge Uther’s decrees. Emotion is a weakness in Uther’s eyes and as such the walls around Arthur’s heart are impenetrable.

Arthur is so tentative with his heart. It would have been wrong for Merlin to allow that intimacy, to build that bond with Arthur still in the dark.

Merlin is so glad that Arthur knows.

Not matter how it happened. Even with the kidnapping, the fighting, the death, the nightmares that Merlin still wakes shouting from. Merlin wishes it hadn’t happened that way, but still it’s _ right _that Arthur knows he has magic. It feels right that Merlin doesn’t have to hide his magic from Arthur anymore. 

Merlin doesn’t quite dare to call it hope. Not just yet.

  
  


-

  
  


The sad truth is, the world does not care about Merlin’s love life. 

Rudely, time continues to run on as usual and doesn’t spare any minutes to allow Merlin to kiss his sort of boyfriend.

Furthermore, the castle staff can’t spare him either. There’s a huge mess to clear up following over a week’s worth of feasting, dancing and jousting. All the servants are asked to help out, even Merlin, meaning he’s too busy ripping down banners to get a moment alone with Arthur.

It’s okay, though, because when they pass each other in the hallway, Arthur gives him this soft, private smile. It makes his heart swell by about three sizes and he tries not to be too conspicuous in the way he beams back.

Finally, the last guest chamber is thoroughly cleaned and set right. The castle has been scrubbed within an inch of its life, the floors mopped, the windows polished. Miraculously, there is still food left in the kitchens, though Merlin has no idea how after the three course dinners that were served each night.

There’s a feeling of relief within the palace. The servants in particular are less haggard; still tired, weary, but thankful all the commotion is over.

It’s apparent when Merlin collects Arthur’s breakfast the next morning. The kitchen, which had been a hub of chaos, nerves and excessive amounts of sausage meat, no longer has the atmosphere of a live battlefield.

One of the kitchen maids waves sleepily at Merlin, stifling a yawn in her hand. There’s fewer servants than usual, as all the nobles that remain in the castle will spend the week following the festivities recuperating. The King won’t show his face until noon. It’s a consequence of having more money than sense and eating, drinking and bragging excessively for days at a time.

Merlin’s heart bleeds, honestly.

Little Thomas is feeding pieces of bread to one of the palace hounds. Merlin smiles, shaking his head. “Make sure the cook doesn’t catch you. Dogs aren’t allowed in the kitchen.”

“The cook won’t catch me,” Thomas says confidently. “She’s asleep in the cellar. She’s snoring like a pig.”

Merlin snorts with laughter. “Don’t let her catch you saying that either!”

The palace hound wanders over to Merlin and pushes her head into his hands. Merlin scratches her ears fondly. She’s pregnant, due to have pups soon, which is probably why a sympathetic servant let her slip into the kitchen.

“She won’t catch me.” Thomas holds out another scrap of bread. “Do you think Prince Arthur would let me keep one of her puppies?”

“I’ll ask him,” Merlin promises, and Thomas looks delighted. 

He gives the dog one more pat before collecting Arthur’s tray. He spares a one handed wave for the kitchen maid, who is now slumped over at the table with her head rested on her arms.

Merlin pushes the door to Arthur’s chambers openly quiet. Arthur is still sound asleep, just a tuft of blond hair visible above the covers. Merlin makes sure the door is latched shut, though it’s not like there is anyone awake to disturb them.

He hesitates, watching Arthur’s chest rise and fall. An idea occurs to him and, in the soft morning light, the pleasant stillness of the early hours, Merlin makes a decision. 

Carefully, Merlin makes his way over to Arthur’s bed. He lays down on top of the blankets, slipping one hand under the pillow and wiggling contentedly. Arthur’s bed is ridiculously comfy.

Arthur is facing him, eyes still closed, but nose scrunched as the bed dips under Merlin’s weight. 

Merlin lets him rest for a while, before sighing loudly. “Arthur, I’ve brought you breakfast.”

Arthur frowns, eyes firmly shut. Merlin reaches over and shoves his shoulder gently. “Arthur.”

Arthur shakes his head, reaching over and batting Merlin’s hand away. “No food. Sleep.”

Merlin hums, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “I suppose you have consumed enough food to feed a small army in the past week.”

Arthur’s eyes fly open. “Is that a comment on my weight?”

Merlin side eyes him. “It’s nothing but the truth.”

Arthur mutters something that sounds suspiciously like he’s telling Merlin exactly where he can shove the truth. He rubs at his eyes tiredly, then stretches. 

“Do you think we could give one of the serving boys a puppy?” Merlin asks thoughtfully. 

“What are you talking about?” Arthur mutters, rolling over so his back is to Merlin. The sheets have fallen down and Merlin can see the bare skin of Arthur’s back, the muscles in his shoulder, the jut of his spine. He wants to reach out and trace the curve of Arthur’s waist, map the freckles on his shoulder blades like a constellation.

Arthur yawns, before flopping back over to look at Merlin. He gives him a long, assessing stare, which makes Merlin’s toes curl, before smirking. “You’re in my bed.”

Merlin promptly flushes. “I’m - I’m not actually _ in _your bed.” He gestures to the sheet he is still very much lying on top of.

Arthur shrugs. There are tired lines around his eyes, but they’re lit with amusement. “Semantics.”

“I’m surprised you know what that means.”

“I’m surprised you’re in my bed at all, given how horrible you are to me all the time,” Arthur complains.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Yes, because we’re both so obvious in our hatred for each other.”

There’s a moment where they just grin at each other like fools, before Arthur leans over and kisses him softly. His mouth is gentle on Merlin’s, a quick brush of lips, Arthur’s way of saying _ good morning _. He draws back and presses a quick kiss to Merlin’s cheek, before rolling out of bed. “Come on, Merlin, get up. We haven’t got time for you to lounge around all day.”

Merlin snorts, watching Arthur gather his shirt and disappear behind the changing screen. “You do know you’re the only person awake at this time.”

“I’m the Crown Prince of Camelot, I can’t spend the day wasting in bed, Merlin.”

“Your father is the King and that’s what he’s doing until noon,” Merlin retorts. He really doesn’t want to leave the comfortable mattress of the royal bed, but he forces himself to get up. “I think you’re the only one who didn’t complete indulge himself during the tournament.”

“Well, I did have other things on my mind.” 

Merlin supposes that is true. Arthur rarely indulges himself at these things anyway; he did, when Merlin first came to Camelot, would get drunk with the knights and sleep in late. He hasn’t drunk like that for a long time, now, and whatever the festivities the night before, he is always, always on time for training with the knights the next day. (Much to Gwaine’s chagrin.)

Arthur wanders over to the table, running an errant hand through Merlin’s hair as he passes him. Merlin straightens Arthur’s bed sheets, neatly arranging the pillows, before wandering over to the table himself. 

Arthur makes a gesture to the chair beside him and Merlin flops into it gratefully. He snags a bread roll from the tray and begins to spread it with jam. “I’m glad all the feasting is finally over. If I never see another roast pig, it will be too soon. Those things are heavy.”

“You have some time before Yuletide,” Arthur says, taking a drink from his cup. “That will be the next big celebration.”

“When’s that?”

“Not for a few months.”

“That’s okay then,” Merlin decides, popping some bread in his mouth. “I’ll allow it.”

“Thank god we have your approval,” Arthur says seriously, and Merlin smirks at him. “How did you celebrate Yuletide in Ealdor?”

Merlin blinks. “Why?”

Arthur spears a piece of bacon. “Sometimes I think I know nothing about your life before Camelot. I would like to know.”

Merlin clears his throat, oddly touched. “Well, it wasn’t like this. Not all of us are born with a kingdom ready to inherit.” Arthur flicks a piece of bread at him. “My mother would light the fire and tell me stories. She’d let me stay up late and sometimes, if we had a good harvest, we’d have a little extra food. But most of the time we’d tell stories. And Will - Will would come, too.”

Arthur is quiet. Merlin puts his bread down, suddenly not hungry. 

“Will wasn’t a sorcerer, was he?” Arthur asks softly. “That was you. And he died trying to protect you from being found out.”

Merlin nods. Arthur hesitates, before reaching out and resting his hand on Merlin’s. “He was a good friend.”

Merlin turns his hand so they are palm to palm, lacing their fingers together. His throat feels tight and his voice is hoarse when he speaks. “My mother - she told me there’s a grave for him in Ealdor. She leaves flowers there.”

Tears prickle in the corner of his eyes and he drops Arthur’s hand, reaching for his scarf to wipe at them. Merlin hasn’t talked about Will for so long; no one here knows him and he hasn’t been to Ealdor for months and months. It’s just another burden Merlin has to hold, another stone pressing down on his chest. 

There’s a screech as Arthur shoves his chair back. He drops to his knees in front of Merlin. “Merlin.

“I’m fine,” Merlin mumbles. Arthur’s hands are resting on Merlin’s thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles on the inside of Merlin’s leg. “I just haven’t talked about him for a while.”

A tear escapes down his cheek. Arthur’s grip tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, just stays there, warm and solid and reassuring. He’s a steady presence, one Merlin is immeasurably grateful for.

Merlin eventually pulls himself together enough to choke out, “I’d like to go visit his grave.”

“You could take some flowers,” Arthur suggests, and Merlin nods. “I could - I could come with you, if you’d like?”

Merlin sniffs. “That would be nice.”

Arthur climbs to his feet, gently tugging Merlin with him. “Come on, the knights can wait a few more minutes.”

He pulls Merlin over to the bed, falling backwards and pulling Merlin down on top of him. Merlin cuddles into Arthur’s chest, one of Arthur’s arms wrapped around his waist, Merlin’s hand fisted in Arthur’s collar.

“Arthur?”

“Hm?”

Merlin uses an elbow to prop himself up on Arthur’s chest. He drags his fingers over Arthur’s skin, tracing patterns on his chest. “Do you ever visit your mother’s grave?”

He can feel Arthur stiffen beneath him, and Merlin glances up at him, biting his lip anxiously. Arthur doesn’t look angry, though. A little surprised. 

“Her tomb,” Arthur corrects quietly. “But I - I don’t like visiting her down there. It doesn’t feel - “

He trails off, but Merlin understands. The tombs under Camelot, are, well. Tombs. Pitch black except for the flickering torch lights, surrounded by the stone caskets of Camelot’s Kings and Queens. Some of them date back hundreds of years. Merlin goes down there very rarely, but he never enjoys it when he does. He always feels there are eyes watching him.

“Well.” Arthur runs a hand over Merlin’s back. “She used to like the woods. It’s one of the few things I know about her.”

Merlin arches back into Arthur’s hand. “You go to the woods?”

“When I can get a moment's peace. There is a meadow that father told me that she - well. It was a long time ago.” Arthur fidgets again. “And I - talk to her. Don’t laugh.” Merlin opens his mouth, but Arthur speaks quickly. “Sorry. I know that you wouldn’t. Habit.”

Arthur is silent after that, lost in thought. He looks achingly young, wistful and forlorn, fingers tight on Merlin’s waist. 

“I think she’d be really proud of you,” Merlin whispers eventually. 

Arthur doesn’t answer. He holds Merlin a little closer though, and they lay there, safe, warm, cocooned in the early morning light and memories of the past. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


They’re late to training in the end, because they both fall back to sleep, and wake up in a panic thirty minutes later. Arthur sends Merlin ahead, accompanied by a bruising kiss and his crossbow, and Merlin rushes to the armoury, hoping his lips aren’t too conspicuously swollen. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t matter that Merlin and Arthur are late, because the only person in the armoury is Leon. Leon is already dressed in his armour, casually sharpening his sword whilst he waits patiently for Arthur.

“Sorry!” Merlin babbles, skidding around the corner. “Arthur is on his way - where’s Gwaine and Percival?”

Leon sighs. “Gwaine has lost his sword."

Merlin blinks. “What?”

Leon has the best ‘done with this shit’ expression; it rivals Gaius’ for sheer exhaustion. “Well, to be specific, Gwaine left his sword at the tavern last night, meaning he couldn’t find it this morning.”

“That is so embarrassing,” Merlin says in awe. “Why did he take his sword to the tavern in the first place?”

Leon shrugs. “I assumed he was either preparing to fight the bar staff, or impress them. I don’t know which one.”

“I mean, either is possible,” Merlin shrugs. “It’s Gwaine.”

“Are you talking about me again, Merlin?” Gwaine calls from the door, stumbling when a harried looking Percival shoves him through the frame.

“Talking about how stupid you are,” Merlin corrects, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, Gwaine? Leaving your sword at the tavern?”

“It’s easily done!” Gwaine protests.

“Right,” Merlin snorts. “Has anyone else here done that?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Me neither,” Merlin declares. “Looks like it’s just you.”

“You’re all a bunch of traitorous bastards,” Gwaine announces cheerfully, pulling his gloves off with his teeth and sloping off to put his armour on.

Arthur arrives a few minutes later, dressed in full chain mail and not a hair out of place. “Apologies for the late start, I was attending to state business.”

State business, Merlin mouths to himself, and has to turn away to hide his smile. 

Gwaine is trying to subtly pull on some chain mail, only it’s not really possible to subtly put on a shirt made of metal and jangly chains. Arthur narrows his eyes. “Gwaine, what are you doing?”

“Gwaine was late because he lost his sword,” Leon offers immediately. Gwaine makes an offensive gesture to Leon’s back. Arthur looks resigned.

“You lost your sword,” Arthur repeats flatly.

“He left it at the tavern,” Merlin explains helpfully. “Don’t look at me like that, Gwaine. You shouldn’t have been an idiot and left your sword at the tavern."

“True friendship,” Gwaine mutters sarcastically. “That’s what you and I have, Merlin, true friendship.”

Arthur claps his hands. “Moving on from Gwaine’s latest act of stupidity. We’re running drills today. Percival, you can practice with Leon. Gwaine, you’re with Merlin.”

Leon and Percival troop out, already shoving at each other playfully. Merlin’s shoulders slump, reaching for his usual shield, when Arthur clears his throat. “Merlin, pick a sword.”

“What?” Merlin frowns, not understanding, when Gwaine whoops excitedly.

“Young Merlin is finally going to train with a sword!” Gwaine crows, slinging an arm around Merlin’s neck.

Merlin fidgets, irritated. “I have fought with a sword before, you know.”

“Yes, but now you get to train with one, instead of playing human target practice. Our boy is all grown up.”

“Shut up!” Merlin snaps, and Gwaine just laughs.

“Grab a sword, you’re going to need one!” Gwaine calls over his shoulder, following Leon and Percival. 

Arthur watches him leave, hands on his hips. “Did he really leave his sword at the tavern?”

“Arthur, why am I training with a sword?” Merlin complains, wiggling into some chain mail. If they’re going to use real weapons, he’s going to wear real protection.

“You need to practice.”

“I don’t need to practice,” Merlin scoffs, wiggling his fingers.

Arthur slaps his hand down. “You need to practice a legal and discreet way of protecting yourself.”

“How discrete can chopping off someone’s head be?” Merlin mutters. “Am I holding this correctly?”

Arthur isn’t falling for it. “I know you know how to _ hold _a sword, you just need to learn how to wield it.”

“Fine,” Merlin whines. “But just for the record, I hate exercise.”

“Not as much as you’ll hate a stab wound,” Arthur says cheerfully, hooking a hand around Merlin’s neck and propelling him towards the practice field.

Merlin has used a sword before, but it’s usually only when things are Really Bad and he has no other choice. He never takes a sword on hunts or expeditions; if they’re ambushed then a well timed branch usually solves the issue. The rest of the time he’s attacking the latest magical threat alone and in secret, so is free to use his powers as he pleases.

Merlin decides he hates sword practice approximately thirteen and a half minutes in, when his arms are ready to fall off. Infuriatingly, he gets the impression that Gwaine is taking pity on him and seriously pulling his punches.

“Why would you choose to be a knight?” Merlin complains, as Gwaine blocks his blow for the tenth time. “This is awful.”

Gwaine laughs, as though he isn’t sweating and carrying a huge metal stick that weighs a tonne. “You’re doing well. Besides, we all know you’ve fought with a sword before!”

“Only when it’s that or _ die_.”

“You’re doing well,” Gwaine repeats, then promptly knocks Merlin’s sword out of his hand. “You just lack finesse. Adrenalin only carries you so far.”

Merlin gives him a dirty look, picking up his sword. “I can’t believe you do this every morning.”

Gwaine pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Come on, again. I promise I’ll go easy on you.” He snorts. “Obviously. Arthur would kill me if I did anything less.”

Merlin brings his sword up, the metal clanging. “What?”

“Adjust your footing. And there’s no way I’m leaving a single scratch on you. Arthur may be a pompous ass, but he could still knock me out if he wanted.” Gwaine points his sword at him. “And if I so much as mess up your hair, he’s going to want to.”

Merlin can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

A smirk crosses Gwaine’s. “Fine. I’ll prove it.”

Merlin glares at him. “Gwaine, what are you - “

“Hey, princess!” Gwaine bellows across the training field. “Merlin has been stab - “

“Gwaine!” Merlin hisses, slapping a hand over Gwaine’s big mouth. “Shut up!”

He looks nervously at Arthur, whose head has whipped round at Gwaine’s shout. Arthur’s eyes narrow, taking them in. Merlin drops his head quickly, digging his elbow into Gwaine’s ribs instead.

“Gwaine, stop manhandling my manservant and start training like a _ knight _!” Arthur barks. 

“Sorry!” Gwaine yells back, completely unapologetic. He shoots Merlin a grin. “See!”

“Shut up,” Merlin orders. He shoves Gwaine away and lifts his sword. “You’re insane.”

Gwaine shrugs. “Maybe. Either way, I’m glad Arthur’s finally got you training with a sword. Properly training.”

Merlin’s glad, too, though not for the same reasons as Gwaine. Not for the same reason as Arthur either, though being more subtle about his magic use probably isn’t a bad thing. 

When it’s late at night and his head is buzzing, he can still feel cold iron crushing his wrists. It doesn’t go away until he reaches out for his magic, does something benign, like flicker the candlelight, or warm the covers. 

Merlin never wants to feel helpless again, and maybe having a sword on him, maybe being able to fight hand to hand would have made a difference. Or maybe it wouldn’t. He’ll never know, but learning other ways to defend himself, not relying on just his magic - it couldn’t hurt. 

“We all know you’re the bravest one among us,” Gwaine says casually, interrupting his thoughts, and Merlin stumbles over his footing in surprise. “I’m decked in chain mail and heavily armed, but you follow Arthur into battle with nothing at all.”

Merlin dodges Gwaine’s swing and presses his advantage. He actually manages to catch Gwaine off guard, and his friend laughs in delight. “Not bad, Merlin!”

“Thanks,” Merlin pants. “Do you think we’re nearly finished?”

Gwaine’s ensuing laughter is not at all reassuring. 

  
  


-

  
  


Gaius looks alarmed when Merlin storms into his chambers that evening. 

In all fairness, Merlin had stormed in, promptly collapsed onto the bench, slammed his forehead into the table and sworn loudly. It probably did look quite alarming.

“Merlin?” Gaius asks tentatively. “Are you alright?”

Merlin lifts his head and groans. “No.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I’ve done anything?” Merlin splutters. “I admit that sometimes I - “

Gaius looks at him. Merlin sighs and corrects. “Okay. _ Most _ of the time I’ve done _ something _, but this time it’s Arthur’s fault.”

“What did Arthur do?”

“His job,” Merlin mutters. “He’s scarily efficient when it comes to training his knights.”

Gaius sighs. “And this is a bad thing?”

“It is now I’m learning to fight!” Merlin moans. “I’ve never done so much exercise in my life.”

“Merlin, you have literally fought a dragon.”

“Yeah, but that was a one off,” Merlin whines. “Arthur says if I really want to learn how to fight and use a sword, I’m going to have to practice everyday. Everyday, Gaius!”

Gaius sets a bowl down on the table, gesturing for Merlin to start eating. “Why are you training with the knights?”

“Because it’s about time I learned how to defend myself without just using magic,” Merlin admits grudgingly. “Camelot has no end of enemies, there’s going to be more bandits and visiting lords and murderous villagers. There’s going to be times when it’ll be too obvious for me to use my magic, especially when the knights are around.”

Gaius stirs his soup, forehead wrinkling. “Do you think any of them suspect your powers?”

Merlin shakes his head. “I don’t think so, but Gwaine did say something today about me going into battle without any armour or weapons. I’m pretty certain Gwaine just thinks I’m stupidly brave, like, his expectations of me are way too high. But still, it’s a valid point.”

“Well, if it means you’re more cautious about your magic use, then I think this is a good thing. Don’t be too hard on yourself, either, Merlin. Arthur will have been training since he was a young boy.” Gaius’ eyes shutter for a moment, before he shakes his head. “Far too young if you ask me, but there we are. It will take some time for you to get used to it, but I have some salve for stretched muscles if you need it.”

“I’m going to need it,” Merlin predicts glumly. He stirs his soup some more, before dropping the spoon. “I also - I also thought it’d be a good idea. To learn how to fight, in case - in case I lose my magic again.”

He deliberately isn’t looking at Gaius, but he hears Gaius move. “Merlin, I can’t imagine how it felt to have your magic blocked by those handcuffs.”

You don’t ever want to, Merlin thinks bitterly.

“And I pray that it never happens again,” Gaius continues sombrely. “But you have to know there is nothing you could have done differently. What happened was not your fault. Even if you had been a master of swordsmanship, Archer had planned this.”

“I know.” It’s easy to say. Harder to believe. “But I think it’d make me feel better. Less - helpless. Knowing that if that ever happens again - “

Gaius reaches over and pats his hand. “Merlin, you were in a situation where everything was out of your control. Learning how to fight, practising with a sword, that is something you have control over.” 

Merlin shrugs, throat feeling tight. “I suppose.” Merlin doesn’t want to ask, but the words slip out, unbidden. He feels like a child, vulnerable, asking for answers. “When will the nightmares stop?”

“Are you still having them?”

“Not all the time. I know it’s only been a week or so since it happened. I had one the other night and then sometimes - when I try to sleep, it plays on my mind.”

“Recovery of the mind takes time,” Gaius says gently. “It’s not that different from the recovery of a broken limb. The nightmares may stop after a week, they may stop after three months. But there are a lot of people who care about you in this castle, Merlin. We’re here to listen.”

“I know. Thank you.” Merlin stands, gathering the dishes. “I’ll clear these away, don’t worry about it.”

“That’s very kind, my boy.” Gaius stands too, grasping Merlin’s shoulder. “Then make sure you get some sleep. If I know Arthur, he’ll have some early morning training sessions in store.”

Merlin snorts. “He wouldn’t dare.”  
  


-

  
  
  


Merlin still has his actual job to do, so he can’t join in every session with the knights. Arthur has him attend every one he can, though. Even after only a few days, Merlin can feel his body adjusting to the changes, the sword feeling less clumsy in his grip.

He’s by no means an expert yet, however, and his muscles ache more and more each day, something he moans to Arthur about constantly. 

“Honestly, I can’t even feel my thighs,” Merlin tells Arthur. “It’s like they are not even there.”

It’s midday and Merlin is just clearing away Arthur’s lunch. Arthur, having eaten his fill, is perched at his desk, frowning at a piece of parchment. He looks up from his writing to give Merlin a quick once over. “I can assure you, Merlin, your thighs are still attached to your body.”

“Small miracles,” Merlin mutters. He snags an apple that Arthur has left for him, before wandering over to where Arthur is sat. He made sure the door was locked when he entered. 

Arthur looks as though he’s reading something important, but Merlin never really cared for that, so he hops up onto Arthur’s desk. “What are you reading?” 

“Something very boring,” Arthur sighs. Merlin swings his legs back and forth, and Arthur absentmindedly rests a hand on Merlin’s thigh. He squeezes once, looking up at Merlin through his lashes. “See. I told you they were still there.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, crunching down on the apple. “Thanks for the confirmation.”

“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re complaining, Merlin,” Arthur continues, dropping his quill. “You’re improving more and more each day. You only fell over - was is twelve? Yes, twelve times during today’s practice.”

Arthur’s mouth is twisted in that way it does when he thinks he’s being clever. He’s relaxed into his chair, legs spread, that one hand still resting possessively on Merlin’s thigh. He looks every inch the satisfied Prince. It makes something hot flare in Merlin’s stomach. 

Merlin takes another bite of apple. “Some of us haven’t been trained to kill since birth.” At Arthur’s flush, Merlin barks a laugh. “Do you remember when you actually said that to me? What absolute pompous sh - “

“Yes, thank you, Merlin,” Arthur interrupts. “What was it you said to me the first time we met? That you could ‘take me apart with one’ - “

“Okay, moving on,” Merlin interjects quickly, pulling a face when Arthur smirks at him. “But seriously. How long have you been training?”

Arthur stiffens; whether the topic is too sensitive, or whether he’s perceptive enough to know what Merlin’s really trying to get at, Merlin isn’t sure. “Why do you want to know?”

Merlin shrugs, trying to defuse the tension. “Wanted to know how long it’ll take me to be Head Knight. I draw the line at anything over ten years.”

Arthur relaxes somewhat, laughing. “Are you after Leon’s job?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Merlin whispers, leaning closer. “But my current boss is a bit of a slave driver.”

Arthur purses his lips. “Is that so?”

Merlin nods seriously. “I thought I’d apply for a different position.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think Leon has the same boss as you,” Arthur tells him sombrely.

Merlin slaps a hand to his forehead in mock distress. “Then it appears I’m doomed to a life of servitude.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Are there really no perks?”

“Well,” Merlin says slowly, then leans forward and brushes his mouth against Arthur’s. “Maybe just one.”

Arthur’s eyes are hooded when he draws back. He reaches for Merlin and Merlin acquiesces immediately, slipping off the desk and onto Arthur’s lap. His hands settle on Arthur’s shoulders, Arthur’s strong arms tugging him closer and settling him in place.

“So when was it?” Merlin asks, reaching out and curling a hand into the soft hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. “Winning tournaments at five? A prodigy with the mace before you could even talk? Barely crawling and a master at the - “

“Okay.” Arthur’s hands tighten on Merlin’s hips. “I don’t know why you’re so interested, but I’ll tell you if you stop babbling. I learnt to ride when I was five - “

“Five!” Merlin exclaims. “Five!”

“Yes, Merlin, five, if you say it for a third time it’ll still be true - “

Merlin tugs on the hair under his fingers, ignoring Arthur’s small whine. “Arthur, who the hell puts a five year old on a horse?”

“Well, it wasn’t a big horse,” Arthur muses. “More like. A medium sized pony.”

“That is insane.” Merlin can hear his voice crack on the last word. “What if you had fallen off? Or been trampled to death? How did you even get on?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Merlin, I was very well supervised. I am the Crown Prince, I didn’t go galloping through the forest as a toddler. I just had to practice in the courtyard.”

Merlin cannot believe this. “And I suppose you were given a sword for your sixth birthday - “

“Seventh, actually,” Arthur corrects. “Though to begin with - “

“Seven!” Merlin screeches. Arthur looks as though he regrets ever engaging in this conversation. “You can barely tie your laces at seven, let alone hold a weapon!”

Arthur’s brow is furrowed. “Pages begin training at seven. I couldn’t be a page to a knight, obviously, but I followed the same process. Besides, I began with wooden swords and shields. I wasn’t given a real sword straight away, I had to earn it.”

“Earn it,” Merlin repeats in disbelief. “But you - you were just a child.”

“I was the Crown Prince,” Arthur counters dully. “My actions reflect on the rest of Camelot. If I was to lead the knights some day, I had to be seen to be training just as hard from the beginning. If not harder.”

Merlin tries to wrap his head around it. A little blonde boy, the only child in the castle, a wooden sword in one hand, his father’s shadow looming over him. No mother to comfort him. 

Arthur is still underneath him, blue eyes pensive. “What were you doing at seven years old?”

Merlin tilts his head. “Helping with the harvest, if it was Summer. We were often hungry, so Will and I would look for berries, herbs, if we could. Mum and I were luckier than most, thanks to my - gifts. Playing in the woods with Will. Feeling guilty for growing so quickly and restitching my clothes with Mum. Life was - simple.”

Arthur smiles. “Sounds nice.”

“It was.” It’s not a lie; Merlin had people who loved him. He was still young enough at that age that he didn’t understand how the world really worked. The dangers he faced. “I was young. It wasn’t until I was a bit older, I realised how lonely I was.”

Arthur lifts a hand to cup Merlin’s face and says haltingly, “I understand all about loneliness.”

Merlin kisses him, hands fisted in Arthur’s collar. Arthur’s mouth is fierce, bruising, arms holding Merlin tightly, as though he never wants to let go. Merlin presses his forehead to Arthur’s, gazing into his eyes. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Arthur shudders, eyes closed. They’re so close that his breath fans over Merlin’s lips when he speaks. “I know.”

They stay like that for a while, Arthur’s face hidden in the crook of Merlin’s neck. He holds onto Arthur tight, occasionally brushes his mouth against Arthur’s soft hair, the curve of his ear, his temple. Merlin wishes to stay in this moment forever.

Eventually, Arthur draws back. “As much as I don’t want to, I have matters to attend to.”

Merlin plays with the collar of Arthur’s shirt. “I have herbs to collect for Gaius.”

“And we both have training with the knights this afternoon,” Arthur reminds him, and Merlin groans.

Arthur catches Merlin’s hand, flips it over and brushes his mouth to the blue veins of his wrist. “I did mean what I said. You’re improving. Even Leon said so.”

“You and Leon talk about me?” Merlin asks, intended as a tease, but something in Arthur’s expression catches his attention. “Oh my god, you _ do _!”

Arthur frowns at him, unceremoniously dropping the hand he just so gently kissed like it’s transformed into a wet fish. “Leon is my oldest friend, we often have conversations. It’s not that odd that you sometimes - “

“Does he know?” Merlin demands. “I bet he does, I bet you’ve told him about that time - “

“I believe he has his suspicions,” Arthur bites out. “Merlin, this really isn’t that funny.”

“It is,” Merlin says decisively. He reluctantly climbs off Arthur’s lap. Arthur takes his offered hand and they both stagger to their feet. “Oh, I wanted to ask if - I thought maybe - “

“What is it?” Arthur asks, sensing his hesitation. “Is it about the puppies? Because I already told Thomas he doesn’t really want one.”

Merlin blinks. “Thomas? Thomas the kitchen boy Thomas?”

“Is there another Thomas?”

“No.” Something warm glows in Merlin’s chest at the thought of Arthur knowing the names of the kitchen staff, of speaking with even the youngest boys and girls. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask you.”

Merlin tugs at his sleeve, suddenly overcome with shyness. Which is ridiculous, given he was just sat in the man’s lap. “I know your agenda is pretty full for the next few days. But I thought after that we could perhaps go for a hunt. Or just tell everyone we’re going on a hunt.”

Merlin takes a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that we could go to the woods, alone, and I could really show you my magic.”

When he dares meet Arthur’s eyes, his gaze is soft. “Yes, of course. Set aside a day and we’ll go.”

“Right.” Merlin ducks his head, trying to hide the beam that spreads across his face. “Great. I will. Anyway. Leon is so straight laced. What did he even _say _?”

Arthur is saved by a knock at the door, and Merlin can barely contain his laughter when Sir Leon pokes his head in. Thankfully, they’re both stood apart by now, Merlin on the other side of the desk whilst Arthur remains by the chair. Arthur still stiffens like a poker has been shoved up his arse, which is endlessly entertaining. 

“Sire, Merlin,” Leon greets them. “The knights are preparing for this afternoon’s practice.”

Arthur drums his fingers against the back of the chair. “Has Gwaine located his sword this time?”

“I believe so, Sire.”

“Then at least we will be off to a more successful start.” Arthur rounds the table. “Come on, Merlin.”

“Do I have to?”

“You’re doing very well, Merlin,” Leon reassures him earnestly, and all the laughter Merlin had shoved down bubbles back up.

Merlin clears his throat several times. “Thank you, Leon. I have been told - “

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur orders, and deliberately brushes past Merlin as he strides out. 

  
  


-

  
  


Merlin isn’t sure what wakes him the next morning. 

There’s a loud clatter that jerks him awake. Merlin blinks blearily, confused. He pushes up on his elbows, clocks the stranger stood in his room, and promptly screams his head off.

“God, Merlin, shut up!” the stranger hisses, clamping a hand over Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin, utterly disoriented, slams his elbow into the stranger’s stomach, hitting them out of blind target rather than precision.

There’s an ‘off’ and the stranger abruptly drops his hand. “Merlin!”

“Arthur?” Merlin stares in shock, eyes still adjusting to darkness. “What the _ fuck _?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” the stranger, who apparently is actually the Crown Prince of Camelot acting like a complete _ creep_, says. “Why did you elbow me?”

“Why are you creeping about in my room in the fucking morning?” Merlin snaps. He yanks his covers up over his torso, a flimsy shield. 

Arthur makes an attempt to look dignified, but he’s lost a lot of credibility after acting like a stalker in Merlin’s bedroom all before dawn. “You have a training session. Get up.”

Merlin’s jaw drops. “You cannot be serious!”

Arthur puts his hands on his hips. “I’m deadly serious. We have a lot of work to do.”

“I thought Gaius was joking,” Merlin says faintly. 

Arthur is still droning on. “If you were a knight, you would be expected to - "

“Brilliant, that’s lovely, it really is,” Merlin interrupts. “You can bugger off.”

Arthur stops, startles. “Merlin - “

“Bugger. Off,” Merlin repeats. “It’s before dawn. I’m not doing a training session. I’m not actually a knight.”

“Merlin!”

Merlin does care about learning self defence but he also cares about a _ sleep routine. _ He can practice at a reasonable hour. All the knights have to do is wave swords around, Merlin is learning that on top of all his other chores. _ Fuck that. _

He’s still a bit disoriented, and he blames that on what he says next. “You can leave, or you can get in here with me, but you’re not dragging me out onto the practice field.”

With that, Merlin flops back down and pulls the covers over him. He resolutely shuts his eyes. 

There’s a long pause. 

Then, the sound of something thumping against the wall. A second later the bed dips, and then a very disgruntled Arthur Pendragon is sliding under the covers to face him.

“You,” Arthur whispers fiercely, “are such a little _ shit_.”

“You,” Merlin whispers back just as hotly, “are insane if you think I’m practising with you at the crack of dawn, then spending the rest of the day doing my actual job and running after you.”

Arthur glowers at him. “You said you were taking this seriously.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I am, but I never agreed to laps around the training field before the sun has risen! That was never part of the deal.”

“Merlin, I told you yesterday this was part of the training!”

Merlin hesitates. “Wait - what? Did you?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.” Merlin bites his lip. “I mean, I’ll be honest, if you told me after the second lot of drills, I wasn’t listening. I know I said I was, but I wasn’t.”

Arthur looks ready to murder him. Now he’s a bit more awake, Merlin may actually recall Arthur saying something like that. Vaguely. He _really_ wasn’t listening. 

“It’s part of the training regime,” Arthur says tightly. “It’s about stamina, discipline. You’re not actually a knight so I have adjusted some of the usual drills. I told you all of this yesterday, too.”

Merlin shrugs sheepishly. “Oh.”

Arthur sighs. “Of course I wouldn’t expect you to do your usual chores after this, don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. You’re incompetent enough when you have slept, I wasn’t going to risk your ineptitude after an early morning. I had planned to give you the morning off.”

“Oh.”

Arthur huffs. The darkness has turned his hair silver. He’s achingly warm, Merlin can feel the heat of him this close. 

Merlin clears his throat. “Did you take your boots off?”

Arthur looks scandalised. “Yes, I’m not a heathen.”

Merlin hums. Arthur’s hair looks soft, spun silver, and he wants to wrap his fingers around the soft ends. Arthur must be able to tell what he’s thinking, because his eyes drop to Merlin’s lips, before glancing up. 

Arthur frowns. “What is it?”

Merlin wets his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

To Merlin’s delight, Arthur flushes red. “I - I - “

The effect he has on Arthur makes Merlin feel more confident. The darkness settles around them like a cloak and it makes him feel brave. “I would like to kiss you. If you’d like that.”

“That would be acceptable,” Arthur croaks, skin flushed with desire, so Merlin does.

He kisses him gently, softly, mouths brushing together. There’s a heat building in Merlin, a fire kindling in his stomach, and he moans when Arthur’s mouth opens under him.

They’re pressed together now, Merlin’s hands fisted in Arthur’s hair, Arthur’s hands gripping Merlin’s waist. Merlin grinds his hips forward instinctively and jolts when he feels Arthur hard against him, moans helplessly at the sensation.

Arthur pulls back, lips slick. “Merlin, Merlin - “

“What?” Merlin gasps, desperately taking in air.

Arthur gestured to the door. “I don’t - gods, Merlin, the noises you make. It makes me - but I just don’t want anyone to hear.” 

He’s a little slow on the uptake, but eventually Arthur’s garbled works make sense. Gaius has his own chamber attached on the other side of the room to Merlin’s, is unlikely to hear anything, but better safe than hideously embarrassed. 

“Hang on, I can - “ Merlin begins, then hesitates. 

Arthur cups his face, palm warm and calloused against his cheek. “Merlin, it’s okay.” 

Merlin collects the last of his courage and feels his eyes flash gold. Arthur is staring at him in awe, bruised mouth parted, eyes wide. He searches desperately but there’s no hatred there, no fear. Only wonder.

“What did you do?” Arthur whispers once Merlin’s eyes have returned to their normal blue.

“Silencing spell. No one outside this room can hear us.” Merlin tilts his head. “And I locked the door, no one will be able to come in.”

Arthur is still gazing at him. His face is flushed. His thumb traces the edge of Merlin’s jaw.

Merlin has to ask. “You’re not afraid?” he blurts.

He gets his answer in the way Arthur drags him close, fingers cradling his face, Arthur’s other hand low and possessive on his waist.

“How could I ever be afraid of you?” Arthur whispers. “Merlin, I don’t - I don’t understand it all - but you - you’re _ incredible _.”

Merlin has never felt as powerful as he does in that moment.

His blood sings with his magic, and he kisses Arthur, needy and helpless. Arthur’s mouth worships his, all consuming. Merlin whines at the feel of Arthur’s tongue in his mouth, the slick sound their lips make, neither afraid now to muffle the sounds. 

Merlin thinks he would like to drown in Arthur, to stay submerged like this forever, but eventually his lungs protest. They break apart, though their hands remain on each other.

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is hoarse and it makes Merlin’s stomach flip. “If this is too fast - we can stop if you - “

“It’s not,” Merlin babbles, and perhaps he’d be embarrassed if he couldn’t see clearly how much Arthur wants him. If he didn’t know, bone deep, the pure affection they feel for one another. “It’s not too fast.”

Arthur’s breathing is ragged. “Good, I. Good.”

“Good,” Merlin repeats, then they both snort with laughter, hands over their mouths, even though no one can hear.

Merlin’s just managed to control his giggles, when Arthur says, “I honestly did come here for a training session,” and that sets Merlin off again.

When Merlin’s stopped laughing, Arthur is looking at him with that soft wonder again.

“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” Arthur murmurs, before blushing in embarrassment. “That sounds like such a line, I swear I didn’t - “

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupts. “Did you want - I’d like to - “

Arthur’s thumb rubs circles over his hip bone. “Anything.”

Merlin takes a deep breath. “I’d like to put my mouth on you.”

Arthur’s response is immediate; they’re already pressed together and Merlin can feel Arthur’s cock twitch in interest, hot and hard. Arthur’s pupils are blown, dark and heavy.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps. “Merlin, are you sure you - “

“Yes,” Merlin answers quickly, because he is. He’s painfully hard himself, his loose sleeping bottoms now tight. In this moment, lost in Arthur’s eyes and the heat in his blood and his own arousal, he wants nothing more than to taste Arthur. “I’m sure.”

Arthur inhales quickly. “Have you done this before?”

Merlin bobs his head. “Not a lot, but I have. Not - not for a while, though.”

Arthur nods jerkily. “Me as well. The - not for a while. It’s been - some time.” Then, in a rush, “Not since I realised my feelings for you.”

Merlin can barely breathe, can only summon the air to say one name. “Arthur.”

Arthur holds his gaze, unabashed. “I didn’t realise them straight away, but once I did - I didn’t want anyone else.”

“It was the same for me,” Merlin exhales, tightening his grip in Arthur’s shirt. “I didn’t realise for so long, but when I look back - it’s always been you.”

“_ Merlin _ ,” Arthur says again, helpless, and they kiss, chaste this time. A gentle meeting of mouths, one of relief and happiness, a kiss that says _ oh there you are. _

“I’d like to put my mouth on you,” Merlin breathes when they break apart. He revels in the hitch in Arthur’s chest. “And taste you - “ Arthur’s breathing is ragged. “And then - then I want you to - to - ”

“Hm,” Arthur purrs, and he slides a hand under Merlin’s shirt. Merlin gasps when Arthur reaches his nipple, runs a teasing thumb over it until Merlin is _ aching _. “Always so bossy, Merlin. Shall I tell you what I want?”

“Go ahead,” Merlin challenges, even as he arches into Arthur’s palm. Arthur pinches his nipple suddenly and the bite of pain makes Merlin nearly arch off the bed.

“I want,” Arthur continues casually, as though this is a very mundane conversation. “You to get me off with your mouth. And then I want to return the favour, until you’re panting and moaning, like this.”

“I’m not - “ Merlin protests, which is when Arthur dips down and takes Merlin’s nipple in his mouth, right through the fabric of his shirt. Merlin almost comes right there. Arthur’s pulls back too quickly, Merlin’s heart thumping in his chest. 

“Oh, but you are, sweetheart,” Arthur smirks. “And I want to see you tip over that edge.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Merlin gasps, and then they’re both moving at the same time.

They both struggle out of their clothes, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor. Merlin slides down the bed, crouching between Arthur’s legs, and Arthur’s eyes go wide at the sight.

“Merlin,” Arthur pants, “if it’s too much, tell me. If you need to stop - “

“I will,” Merlin assures him, and brushes his lips against the soft skin of Arthur’s thigh. Arthur keens, the sound low in his throat. Arthur’s thighs are strong, muscular, dusted with golden hair. Merlin wonders what it’d be like to have Arthur thrusting inside him, Arthur on top, Merlin’s legs tight around his waist - 

That’s definitely something for another day, Merlin thinks, then focuses his attention to Arthur’s cock. 

Merlin has done this once or twice, but not for a while and none of his past experiences have been like Arthur.

Arthur, who whispers Merlin’s name like an oath, when Merlin licks him from base to tip. Arthur, who tastes thick and heavy on his tongue, who works so hard to keep his hips steady.

Arthur asks again, “Is this okay, Merlin, is this - “ When Merlin confirms that it is, then the words tumble from Arthur’s mouth. “Merlin, sweetheart, you feel so good, god, Merlin - “

Merlin _ really _likes being called sweetheart.

Arthur’s wiggling now, his hips moving. He keeps his hands twisted in the sheets, like he doesn’t want to put them in Merlin’s hair, doesn’t want to _ hurt _him.

“I’m going to come,” Arthur pants, “Merlin, do you want me to - “

Merlin only reply is to take Arthur even deeper, and when Arthur does come, he swallows it all down. Arthur judders, hips arching off the bed. Merlin keeps him in his mouth, works him through the aftershocks, until gentle hands push his shoulders away. 

Merlin sits back on his heels, wiping at his mouth. Arthur looks _ wrecked _ ; hair fanned across the pillow, chest rising and falling. Merlin can’t believe _ he _did that, that Merlin was the one to bring Arthur to the edge and take him over. 

He doesn’t have long to bask in it, before Arthur is dragging him close. His hand clamps around Merlin’s wrists, flipping them over so Merlin is under him. 

Arthur moves to crouch down, but Merlin stops him. “No, your hand! I want you to use your hand.”

Arthur blinks at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Merlin whines, grinding his hips against Arthur’s. Arthur hisses, still sensitive, but Merlin wants Arthur to touch him, suddenly wants those calloused hands on his body. “I want your hands on me, Arthur.”

Arthur brushes a searing kiss to his lips. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Merlin bucks his hips as Arthur drops his hand between them, wrapping it around his length. He’s achingly hard, desperate, but Arthur keeps his grip loose. His other hand traces a path down Merlin’s chest. 

Merlin whimpers as Arthur’s thumb flicks over his nipple. At the same time, Arthur’s hand begins to move, tortuously slow as he strokes up and down.

“Arthur,” Merlin pants, “please, I’m close, I - “

Arthur ducks his head, free hand pinning Merlin’s hips to the bed. Arthur is _ strong _and it just makes Merlin dizzier. 

He drops kisses to Merlin’s stomach, kiss after kiss until Merlin is squirming. At the same time his hand speeds up, Arthur lifts his head and crashes their mouths together and when Merlin comes, he swallows the noises Merlin makes.

Merlin collapses onto the mattress. It takes him a moment to catch his breath. He can still feel the aftershocks of pleasure, the tightening in the base of his spine.

Arthur flops down beside him, rolling off Merlin and throwing his head back against the pillow.

Merlin feels boneless, languid. “That was.”

He trails off, unable to finish. Arthur swallows. “Yeah.”

He still feels loose, shivery, and his grasp on his magic is lax as a result. This becomes apparent when Merlin distantly notes the mess on his stomach. Something tugs his at chest with a jolt, his magic jerking unconsciously, and then suddenly he and Arthur are wiped clean. 

Arthur makes a startled noise. “Did you just - “

“Sorry,” Merlin says quickly, but Arthur just laughs and tugs Merlin closer. 

They adjust themselves so they’re lying face to face. Merlin’s hand is curled around Arthur’s arm, their legs tangled together. Arthur’s hand is gently stroking up and down his spine and Merlin’s wants to arch into it like a pleased cat.

“Always surprising me.” Arthur’s hand lingers at the very base of Merlin’s spine, for one tantalising beat, before continuing its rhythm. “What else can you do?”

“You really want to see?”

“I do.” Arthur ducks forward, leaves a kiss to the cut of Merlin’s jaw. “I want to see every part of you.”

A thousand birds take flight in Merlin’s chest. He can’t quite speak. His fingers are trembling as he raises them. Arthur gasps softly and Merlin opens his cupped palms, revealing golden sparks of light. 

Under Merlin’s gaze, the light twists and shimmers, changing shape. First a horse, then a bird.

Cupped between them, Merlin’s magic illuminates their faces, paints the lines of Arthur’s face in golden light. Arthur is transfixed, eyes wide. “Does it hurt?”

“It's not fire,” Merlin reassures him, though he can see how the trail of sparks may give that appearance. “It just tickles. I’ll show you, look.”

He reaches out his hand and Arthur’s takes it cautiously. The trail of sparks travels to Arthur’s palm; Arthur gasps as though he expects it to hurt. 

Something changes when his magic touches Arthur’s skin. He can feel the way it pulses in his veins, flares to life like a match catching alight. 

Arthur is as still as stone; he may well be carved out of marble if it wasn’t for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. 

To Merlin’s surprise, the small golden bird that his magic had created begins to change. The sparks swirl and flutter, until there is a tiny dragon curled in Arthur’s hand.

Arthur glances at him. “What - did it - “

“It likes you,” Merlin realises. Arthur blinks and Merlin repeats himself, certain now. “My magic it - it likes you.”

“It’s - alive?” Arthur asks. The dragon stretches its wings; it’s like a tiny constellation, a collection of bright glimmers. 

“In a way.” Arthur carefully spreads his fingers, smiling as the little dragon pads across them. “Arthur, there’s - there’s so much you don’t know.”

The last word comes out as half a sob, but Merlin doesn’t feel sad, he feels _ alive _. Arthur reaches his hand out and Merlin meets him halfway, their fingertips brushing. 

“That’s okay,” Arthur whispers, and his eyes are shining as the dragon nuzzles his palm. “We have time.”

  
  
  


-

  
  


Merlin can’t remember ever feeling this happy. 

  
  
  
  


-

  
  


It’s a usual council meeting. Merlin is stood behind Arthur, resting ever so slightly on the stone behind him. 

His neck is throbbing pleasantly; Arthur sucked a bruise there this morning, scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin below his jaw, until Merlin was a panting wreck.

Merlin longs to press down on the bruise, feel the flare of pain, the reminder of Arthur’s mark on him. He won’t though. No way is Merlin getting painfully aroused in front of twenty crusty old councillors, Sir _ Leon _, and Arthur’s sorcerer hating father. 

Speaking of the old tyrant, Uther is speaking now. “Sir Leon, I believe you have reports from one of the coastal towns?”

“Yes, Sire.” Leon clears his throat, rising from his seat. “We have received a petition from the villagers of Almor. It’s a small coastal town, just on the Southern border.”

Arthur leans forward. “I’ve heard of Almor.”

“There’s a large river at the edge of the town that leads out to the sea. The people report the river has been flooding, destroying their crops.”

Uther waves a hand. “Do they want aid to build a damn? Almor are a useful trading port, send all the supplies they need.”

Leon shakes his head. “That’s the issue, Sire. They have built a damn, but it doesn’t hold. Every night, at the same time, the river floods. It’s been two weeks now and nothing has been able to stop it.”

The King frowns. “Are the seas stormy?”

“No. The seas are fairly calm for the season. It’s just the one river.”

“And any sign of sabotage? Other townsfolk deliberately destroying the dam?”

“The people report nothing,” Leon shrugs. “It’s most odd.”

“Indeed.” Merlin studiously keeps his eyes trained on the wall opposite, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Arthur, you and your knights ride out at dawn. I want you to get to the bottom of this.”

Arthur inclines his head respectfully. Uther turns to Gaius, a shadow passing over his face. “Gaius, could this be the work of sorcery?”

“I’m afraid I do not have enough information to say, My Lord,” Gaius says. “It is possible, but there could be many other causes. Sabotage, as you’ve said. Or perhaps they needed stronger supplies to build their dam. From what I remember, it’s a small village.”

“You will remain vigilant,” Uther orders, gloved fist clenched. “Council is dismissed. Arthur and Leon with me, I want to discuss this further.”

Merlin trails from the room. Once the door to Gaius’ chambers is closed tight, he turns to him. “Could it be sorcerory? A curse?”

“I was honest with Uther when I said I do not know enough to speculate,” Gaius says, rummaging through some drawers. “But a curse is definitely possible. It could be one of the villagers has angered a witch or sorcerer and they’ve cursed the river to flood.”

He hands Merlin a book and Merlin flips it open, scanning through the pages. Gaius stops beside him, guiding towards a particular section. “Look through these pages. There are plenty of magical creatures that lurk below the water.”

“We’ve never encountered many before.” Merlin pours over the book in fascination. “Attacks from the air, dragons and the like, I’ve faced them before. And I can barely step into the woods without something charging at me. But it’s rare I’ve had to go swimming to face a foe.”

The door creaks open and Arthur hurries in, closing the door firmly behind him. “Have you found anything?”

“Arthur,” Gaius says in surprise. “Can I help you?”

Arthur frowns, shaking his head. “I’m here to help _ you. _If we know what the creature is, we can deal with it before the other knights realise.”

Merlin arches an eyebrow. “What do you mean before the other knights realise?”

“If it is magical then you’ll use your magic to defeat it,” Arthur explains slowly, like he’s speaking to a small child. “If we know what it is, then we can engineer a situation where you can do that unnoticed.”

“You - you want to make a plan?” Merlin asks in disbelief. 

Arthur gives him an odd look. “What is wrong with you today? No, we’re going to charge in without thinking. Because that always goes so well.”

“That’s normally what I do,” Merlin mutters, but grudgingly makes room on the bench.

Arthur sits down beside him. As he does so, he gently grasps Merlin’s chin. Merlin doesn’t even think, instinctively turns into Arthur’s greeting kiss. It’s something they’ve done many times now, when Arthur returns from a council meeting or Merlin comes back from completing chores for Gaius. 

The kiss is light, brief, and Arthur ruffles his hair affectionately before pulling away. “Will this book help us?”

“If you look on this page,” Merlin explains, pointing to a drawing in the top corner. “It lists all the magical creatures that dwell in water.”

“What’s a kelpie?” Arthur asks, completely butchering the pronunciation. Merlin has no idea how, it’s a two syllable word, and he’s about to tease Arthur mercilessly for it, when he realises Gaius is watching them. 

Merlin blinks at him. “Gaius, is everything okay?”

Arthur looks up too, glancing at Gaius questioningly. Gaius’ eyes are crinkled around the edges, clearly fighting down a smile. 

“It’s nothing, my boy,” Gaius answers after a moment. “You young men carry on.”

“Right,” Merlin says slowly, bemused. “Anyway, Arthur you completely ruined that name.”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


They pour over the texts, finding a number of information that could be useful, but could also be totally useless, depending on what they find in Almor. Chances are it’s just a poorly built dam, but Merlin does like to prepare for the worse. The worse does tend to happen to him, after all. 

Merlin is packing for the journey the next morning when Arthur grasps his arm. Merlin looks up at him in surprise. “Do you want me to pack a different cloak?”

Arthur smiles. “No, that one is fine. I just wanted to apologise.”

“You, apologising?” Merlin scoffs. “For what, because if you can’t choose, I have a list - “

“Shut up.” Arthur cuffs his head gently, though it’s less effective when it results in Arthur running his fingers through Merlin’s hair afterwards. “That’s not what I meant, idiot. I’m sorry that we won’t be able to go out in the woods together, like we planned.”

Merlin frowns at him. “We are riding out to the woods together. Well, through the woods. To the beach, which is even better.”

Arthur sighs. “No, I meant - “

Merlin takes pity on him. “I’m only teasing, I know what you meant.”

Arthur ruffles his hair again, taking him by surprise and making him choke with laughter. Merlin shoves at Arthur, batting his hands away. “Stop it! One of us has to pack properly, I’m not freezing to death on the sand.”

Arthur snorts. “You’ll be sleeping in my rooms, anyway, it won’t be an issue. It’s like sleeping next to a furnace. But I am sorry. I know we had planned to use this day for you to show me your magic.”

“There will be time for that,” Merlin shrugs. “Besides, you’re probably going to see it in action anyway, if the river really is cursed.”

“Don’t jinx things,” Arthur warns, and Merlin hasn’t the heart to tell him his words won’t have any effect. Bad luck follows Merlin around like smoke and he wouldn’t be surprised if his fingers get burnt on this latest venture, too. 

Still, the ride through the forest is pleasant enough. Arthur and Merlin ride at the front as usual, speaking quietly. At one point he’s sure he hears someone whisper his name, but when he looks behind him, Gwaine, Leon and Percival are all pointedly looking in different directions. 

The people of Almor are grateful for their help. It's a small town on the edge of Camelot’s borders; it’s odd to hear the sea breaking in the distance, the smell of salt in the air. The local inn has kindly offered their rooms, and the knights are exhausted after a full day’s ride.

As soon as possible, Arthur and Merlin take the opportunity to slip away to the river. Dusk has fallen by now, they’d told the villagers and the knights they would tackle the problem tomorrow. There will be nobody around and even if there is, they’ll just assume Arthur changed his mind and wanted to inspect the river today.

“So, what’s the plan?” Arthur asks, strolling across the grass. Merlin shivers, his threadbare jacket not enough against the cold sea chill. 

“You’re asking me?”

Arthur nudges him playfully; it’s something he does with the knights, which means he thinks it’s playful but forgets that not everyone is made of muscle. Merlin’s shoulder is going to ache for days. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never come along on one of your little magical missions.”

“Magical missions,” Merlin repeats. “I promise you, they’re not that fun. They involve a lot of sneaking around after dark. And lying. Lots of lying. And often bruises in odd places you can’t explain.”

Arthur opens his mouth to reply, when they round the corner and stumble upon the river. The land around it is boggy and damp, though curiously it’s not flooded at the moment. Merlin crouches down, frowning. “Arthur, this is odd. The ground is clearly damp from flooding, but there is no water on the ground.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “As though it floods, but later the water is pulled back into the river.”

“Exactly.” Merlin’s hand brushes the ground and he gasps. “Arthur, there’s magic here.”

Arthur rushes to his side, wincing as his boots slide in the mud. “What is it?”

Merlin lifts his hand. “When I touched the wet ground, I could feel it. In the water.” He looks towards the river, walking towards it.

“Merlin,” Arthur hisses, picking his way through the earth. “Hold on.”

He makes his way to the water’s edge, crouching down. Merlin scans the river, eyes focused, before catching on something. “Arthur,” Merlin whispers, “Arthur, come to me slowly.”

Arthur does so, obediently crouching down next to him with measured movements. “Do you see it?”

"_Her_,” Merlin corrects gently. “I see her.”

There is a woman in the river. Though that’s a bit simplistic; she’s not like any woman Merlin has ever seen. Merlin isn’t sure she’s a woman at all. 

She’s swimming by the river’s edge, submerged under the water so only her pale shoulders show. Her hair is long and dark, tangled waves; it looks green in the moonlight, and it takes Merlin a second to realise it _ is _green, twined with seaweed. 

The woman swims slowly towards them. Her eyes are big and dark, the pupils almost black. Under her eyes are a sprinkling of freckles, startling on her white skin. 

Merlin crouches even lower, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. It must work, because the woman draws closer.

“Hello,” Merlin greets softly. “Who are you?”

When she speaks, her voice is oddly high, melodic. “Two legs. I don’t speak with Two Legs.” She tilts her head to one side, eyes focused unblinkingly on Merlin. “You are different from the other land walkers.”

“I have magic,” Merlin explains.

“Hm.” She suddenly ducks underwater. Arthur muffles a yelp, hand grasping Merlin’s wrist. However she surfaces just as abruptly, closer this time. “Magic of the sea?”

Merlin is so out of his depth. “I - I have magic of the earth. And the sky.”

“The sky,” the woman repeats, clicking her tongue. “I shan’t drown you then.”

So, so out of his depth. “Uh. Great.”

Arthur’s knuckles are white with his grip on Merlin’s wrist. When Merlin glances at him, he’s doing surprisingly well, eyes very focused and deliberately calm. There is something distinctly unearthly about this woman. Merlin can feel it in the very air around them. 

The woman ducks beneath the water again, so only her head is visible. “Do you have fish?”

“No,” Merlin apologises. The woman blows a bubble in the water. “Is it you who have been flooding the river?”

The woman turns on her back, looking up to the moon. She floats perfectly. “Yes. I shall flood the whole land.” 

Merlin breathes out slowly. “Why?”

Black eyes meets Merlin’s. “They have my skin.”

“Your skin - oh,” Merlin gasps in realisation. “You’re a selkie.”

Arthur mutters something in confusion, but Merlin ignores it. The selkie, for that is what she is, drifts closer in interest. “I have many names. How do you know this one?”

“Who took your skin?” Merlin asks. The selkie flips onto her front, swimming right to the bank’s edge. Merlin realises abruptly they aren’t freckles, they are marks, like those of a seal. 

“I followed the sea but the waves were strong. I took shelter here and stashed my skin in the reeds.” She gestures to the reeds behind Merlin, glaring at them hatefully.

Merlin nods. “Why did you shed your skin?”

The selkie shoots him a withering look. “There is not enough salt in this river water.”

“Right,” Merlin agrees, as though that makes any sense to him at all. “And someone took it?”

The selkie hums, the sound vibrating through Merlin’s bones. “There were many fish to hunt.”

“Right,” Merlin repeats, trying to sound like he knows what he’s doing. “And after you’d finished hunting fish, your skin was gone?”

The selkie doesn’t respond, just keens lowly. It’s an inhuman, haunting sound, and Merlin shivers. 

“My skin is with the Two Legs,” the selkie says eventually. “I shall flood this land, then swim to my skin and take it back.”

Arthur speaks for the first time. “Why can’t you leave the river to get your skin?”

The selkie makes a chittering noise, shaking her head so her so her inky hair fans out around her. “Because I don’t know how to _ walk _.” She says it like it’s the most obvious statement in the world. 

Arthur looks rather affronted, but obviously doesn’t want to offend the scary seal lady in case she drowns him. “I see.”

The selkie eyes him disdainfully, turning back to Merlin. “I shall flood the land and swim to my pelt. I have tried many times but I grow weak without my skin.”

Merlin doesn’t have the heart to tell she’d need a lot more water to flood an entire town. He swallows. “And what if you don’t find your skin?”

“I shall languish here until I perish.” She says it simply, an uncomplicated truth. 

“I won’t let that happen,” Merlin swears. His heart hurts in his chest, this beautiful and strange creature trapped and far from home. “I will find your skin and bring it to you.”

The selkie narrows her eyes; the marks underneath are stunning, a scattering of grey paint on a pale canvas. “The hearts of men are as cold as the ocean’s depths. You mean to bind me to you, to force me to walk with you on land.”

Merlin shakes his head. “No. I too know what it’s like to be trapped. I will return your skin to you, I promise.”

“The sea holds no promises.” The selkie has tilted her head curiously again, though. “But Two Legs are fickle beasts. Perhaps you will bring me my skin. Perhaps I will drown you and all your kind.” She chitters again, which Merlin thinks may be her way of laughing. “Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.”

“That is so not reassuring,” Arthur mutters, and Merlin digs his elbow into Arthur’s ribs.

“Besides,” Merlin adds, “my heart belongs to another.”

The selkie does appear more interested in that, her strange pupils darting to Arthur. “The Two Leg?” At Merlin’s nod, she bursts into chittering. “The tastes of men!”

“I am so offended,” Arthur mumbles.

“Would you please shut up before she drowns you?” Merlin hisses. 

The selkie swirls in front of him in the water, swimming back and forth. “I shall meet you at moon rise, one day hence.”

She doesn’t say goodbye, just dives beneath the waves abruptly. Arthur and Merlin watch for a while, but after five minutes of nothing, they assume she isn’t coming back up.

“Well, that went rather well,” Merlin says cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “Far smoother than I expected.”

He turns to Arthur, who is staring unblinking at the river. “Arthur?”

Arthur waves one hand, still transfixed on the spot where the selkie disappeared. Merlin sighs, grasping his arm and hauling to his feet. “Come on.”

Arthur doesn’t move. “She hasn’t come back up.”

“Arthur, sweetheart, I don’t think she’s going to.”

Arthur blinks. “Right.”

“Come on,” Merlin says again, and drags a bewildered Arthur back to the inn. 

  
  
  
  


-

Arthur gets over his shock on the walk back, but this instead means he has a thousand questions for Merlin when they get to their rooms at the inn. Quite honestly, the tip of Merlin’s nose is freezing and his knees are soaked from kneeling on the damp earth. He’d quite like to just get in bed, but he’s not going to stop Arthur’s new found interest in magical creatures. 

“So she’s a kelpie?” Arthur is asking, sat on the bed, still fully dressed.

Merlin kicks his own boots off, wincing at the mud caking the soles. He’ll probably have to throw them away at this rate. “No, Arthur, she’s a _ selkie. _A kelpie takes the form of a giant, black horse. It’d soon as drown you as look at you.”

“A kelpie is a horse and a selkie is a - seal?” Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t understand. But she can turn into a woman?”

“It’s a bit like - like a mermaid,” Merlin says. He pulls on his night clothes, muttering a quick spell to warm them. Arthur is slowly unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it over his head. “She’s a seal, but she can change into a woman when she sheds her skin.”

“Are mermaids real?”

Merlin pauses in drawing the sheets back. “I don’t know. I’ve never met one. Actually, I don’t know if mermaids are remotely like selkies.”

“She said she couldn’t walk.” Arthur is finally removing his boots. Merlin could weep. “But she had legs?”

“She’s probably never been on land before,” Merlin shrugs. “From the tales, some selkies enjoy coming ashore and basking in the sun. Some prefer to stay among the waves. If she has never been on land, how would she know how to walk? It would seem impossible if you’ve never done it.”

“Her skin.” Merlin is hurrying past Arthur to grab more blankets, but Arthur stops him, catching his wrist. “What did she mean about it binding her to someone?”

Merlin rubs at his eyes tiredly. Arthur’s hands circle his waist, pulling him forward so he’s stood between Arthur’s legs. Merlin’s voice is muffled around his yawn. “Selkies can’t return to the sea without their skin. According to the legends, men would find and keep the skins of selkies, forcing her to remain a woman and to stay with him forever. The men would keep the pelts hidden, so the selkie couldn’t find it and just escape.”

Arthur’s jaw falls open. “That’s barbaric.”

Merlin rests his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, leaning into him. “That’s what the legends say.”

“That’s slavery,” Arthur snaps. “If that’s what’s happening here - “ He breaks off, eyes bright with anger. “If a man has found her skin and is keeping it from her, I will - “

“Arthur,” Merlin hushes. “Arthur, it’s okay. We’ll help her. We’ll find her skin and set her free.”

Arthur’s mouth is a tight line. Merlin frowns, running a hand through Arthur’s fringe. “Arthur, what is it?”

Arthur sets his jaw. “You know, my father would have killed her.”

Merlin inhales sharply. He is speechless, suddenly. He can’t deny Arthur’s words. “He would have killed her,” Arthur repeats. “He wouldn’t have hesitated. She would be dead by now.”

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs. He presses his lips to Arthur’s forehead. “We’re going to free her.”

“And many more like her,” Arthur blurts, then looks taken aback by his own words. “That is what a King should do. Help those in need.”

“And many more like her,” Merlin vows. His heart feels light in his chest. Tiredness presses down on him, tugging on his eyelids. “But now it’s time for bed.”

Arthur is quiet as they settle under the covers. Merlin turns on his side, Arthur pulling him to his chest. “Thank you,” Arthur whispers into his ear.

Merlin hums, eyes already closed. “For what?”

“For helping her.” Arthur kisses Merlin’s neck. “You knew exactly what to do. You must have helped so many people like her.”

“One day I’ll tell you about them,” Merlin mumbles, and Arthur’s arms tighten around his waist. “But not right now, okay?”

“Okay,” Arthur agrees, amused, but Merlin has already fallen asleep. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


In theory, the rest of the trip should be a cinch. It’s a lot easier now that Merlin can tell Arthur exactly what’s going on. He has no idea how he would have hunted down a seal skin on his own. Merlin is good at improvising but what would his cover story have been for that? Let alone hiding a _ selkie _from Arthur and the knights. He wouldn’t have known where to even begin.

But with Arthur on side, all Merlin has to do is sit back and let Arthur concoct some story. Nothing to hide, from Arthur at least, and no one would question why a Prince wanted a seal skin. They just assumed the great Prince Arthur has solved the mystery.

Unfortunately, their plan hits a snag; they forget how intelligent the knights actually are.

Easily done, but still.

Gwaine crosses his arms. “A seal pelt?”

Merlin keeps a straight face; he has had years of practice after all. “Yes. I believe the pelt is cursed and that is what is causing the river to flood each night.”

Gwaine looks between them. “And you two figured this out in a night?”

Arthur crosses his arms, adopting his best supercilious expression. “I am perfectly capable of such feats, Sir Gwaine, I assure you.”

Gwaine doesn’t look convinced. “How did you know the pelt is the cursed object?”

Merlin shrugs. “I asked around the townsfolk. Someone mentioned seeing a pelt in the reeds by the river. Seemed too much of a coincidence.”

Gwaine takes a sip of his drink, then says casually, “Funny, one of the townsfolk told me they saw a woman.”

Merlin blinks, fighting down the flare of panic in his stomach. “A woman?”

Gwaine takes another sip, all too languid. “Yes. Most of them don’t believe it, the rest are too scared to check it out.”

Leon drums his fingers on the table, frowning. “Perhaps the woman could be the sorceress who cursed the pelt.”

They’re sat around a table in one of the inn’s spare rooms. Arthur had waited until after breakfast to tell the knights, and he’s sat at the head of the table, Merlin stood just to his right. 

Arthur clears his throat. “A plausible theory. Either way, it just means finding the pelt is even more important.”

Leon nods his head. “And the woman, Sire? Should we search for her?”

Arthur hesitates. Merlin, stood beside him, can see the way his shoulders tense. He can also see clearly the moment Arthur makes his decision. He’s frozen in place, stood completely still as Arthur rises to his feet.

A hush falls over the table, the knights going silent. Even Gwaine looks sombre, discreetly removing his feet from where they are propped up on the wood. 

“I trust all of you with my life,” Arthur begins. He looks around at each of them, gaze clear. “And I hope you would trust me with yours.”

“You know we do, Arthur,” Leon says quietly. “You’ve returned our loyalty tenfold.”

Arthur nods, he and Leon sharing a look. “Thank you, old friend. I know we were sent here to help these people, and that is what we’re going to do. But not at the expense of further innocent lives.”

Gwaine looks graver than Merlin’s ever seen him. “What are you saying?”

Arthur lifts his chin. “It’s not a sorceress who’s causing the flooding. It’s a selkie.” Merlin scarcely dares breathe. “She’s trapped in the river and she can’t leave until her pelt is returned.”

“A selkie,” Gwaine repeats, recognition flickering across his face. “Aye, I’ve heard tales of them.”

Merlin stares at him. “You have?”

Gwaine tosses his head. “It’s like you forgot I didn’t grow up in your quaint little kingdom. I’ve travelled around a fair bit. You always hear tales by the coast. Beautiful woman beneath the waves, trapped by heartless bastards until they can return to the sea.”

Leon turns to Arthur. “This woman. She’s a - a creature of magic?”

Arthur swallows. “Yes. And she’s innocent. If we return the pelt to her, she can go back home.”

Leon gazes at Arthur before, inexplicably, turning to Merlin. It’s like he can see right through him, and Merlin doesn’t know what he finds, but it must be something good. “Then we should help her.”

All the tension drains from Merlin’s body at once and he grabs the back of Arthur’s chair for purchase. “You’ll really help her?”

All heads turn to him, and Merlin realises all the focus had been on Arthur. The sudden attention is a bit daunting. Gwaine grins at him. “That’s what knights do, isn’t it?”

Leon nods, a small smile on his face. “A knights’ first duty to Camelot is to protect her citizens.” 

Merlin’s knuckles are white where they grasp Arthur’s chair. It’s suddenly not enough to keep him upright and he sits down heavily on the arm. A warm arm circles his waist, keeping him steady, and it takes him a beat to realise it’s Arthur’s. 

Arthur continues. “It goes without saying, my father would not approve of my actions - “

“Fuck your father,” Gwaine says loudly, sparking a round of shouting and exclamations. “What! I’m just saying!”

Percival shoves Gwaine’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Besides, what has your father got to disapprove of? The pelt is causing the flooding. And soon it will be gone. Which will solve everyone’s problem and we can all go home happy.”

“Precisely,” Gwaine says, snapping his fingers. “Who’s to say the hows and whys might get a bit muddled on the way?”

Merlin decidedly doesn’t cry, because that would be hideously embarrassing. His eyes may sting, and he may have to hide his face in Arthur’s shoulder for a brief moment, but in a surprising show of tact, no one mentions it.

“Right,” Arthur announces. “Let’s find this pelt.”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  


In the end, it doesn’t take long for the pelt to be found. They ask around and it quickly appears that it had been picked up by one of the townsfolk, who had hoped to barter it for wares at the market. Nothing nefarious whatsoever and the woman in question is more than happy to return to it. 

(Someone may then spread a rumour among the townspeople about seal pelts and curses and essentially ensures the situation will never repeat itself. Better safe than sorry and Gwaine really is in an excellent gossiper.)

They wait until dusk, then slowly make their way to the river. The knights have insisted on coming, and Gwaine and Percival are crashing about ahead, Leon trailing behind them and sending baleful looks their way.

“It has occurred to me,” Arthur says, eyeing Gwaine in disdain. “That ignorance of magic does not at all protect you from it.”

Merlin is gingerly holding the seal skin; out of the water it looks like a regular pelt, but Merlin can feel the power within it. “What do you mean?”

“Well, take today.” Arthur gestures to the skin in Merlin’s hand. “If we were educated on magic, if we understood it, then this would never have happened. The townspeople would never have taken the pelt. Or they would have at least known to return it once the flooding began. Both sides could live in peace. But because all they know is that magic is ‘evil,’ they were completely in the dark.”

Merlin nods slowly. “It’s not as though magic disappeared from the world at Uther’s decree.”

“Like the unicorn,” Arthur adds, clearly on a roll now. “If I’d known they were to be protected, I never would have killed it and cursed the entire kingdom.”

“I mean, I did warn you about the unicorn.”

Arthur side eyes him. “Couldn’t let me have that one, could you?”

“Never,” Merlin smiles sweetly. “Now shut up or you’ll scare her off.”

They pull to a stop at the edge of the bank. Merlin makes the knights stand further back, then debates (lectures) with Gwaine on all the things he can't do and/or say. Finally they’re ready and Merlin crouches by the water, hands outspread and heart in his throat.

He can’t say how long he waits there; the breeze cool in his hair, the water lapping against the bank. Arthur a steady presence beside him, the pelt slick and light in his grip.

It could be minutes, it could be hours, when a head surfaces. 

The moonlight catches the glint of dark pupils; she is ethereal in the moon’s beams. Merlin hears someone gasp, but he’s caught in this moment, the magic of the sea calling to his own gift.

The selkie swims forward, her hair a crown of ink in the rippling water. Her gaze sharpens as it falls on the pelt. 

Merlin’s voice is hoarse. “Hello again.”

She ducks down in the water, only her eyes visible as she gazes at him. When Merlin doesn’t move, she lifts her head so she can speak. “You found my skin.”

“I did.”

“And what is your price?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No price.”

“Hm.” She chitters, head tilting from side to side, an inhuman gesture. “You speak the truth.”

“No price,” Merlin repeats. “It’s yours and should have never been taken from you.”

She whistles, teeth flashing bright. “More truths.”

Merlin moves forward cautiously, holding the skin out. “I return this to you and with it you can return to the sea.”

The selkie drifts closer. Merlin is crouched by the very edge of the bank and he stays very still, until she is so close that they are face to face. “A strange thing. To be trapped.”

“A strange thing,” Merlin echoes, and something like understanding passes between them. 

The selkie takes her skin; Merlin watches as it begins to shimmer in her hands. She holds it reverently to her chest, slowly dipping down into the water.

“No price. No reward.” She’s almost submerged now, dark eyes and darker hair, but Merlin can hear her quite clearly. “But the sea does not forget.”

And with that she dunks under the water completely. Merlin watches in awe as sparks fill the water, shimmering, dancing lights that seem to come from below. They light up the sky, the surface dancing with trails of colours, which is when something bursts out of the water.

Merlin gasps as the seal breaks the surface; it barks delightedly, racing through the water, tumbling and splashing. It’s a riot of movement and there’s only one moment of calm, when the seal turns to face Merlin. Dark eyes gaze into his, it’s body sleek, grey with dappled spots over its back.

It happens in the space between heartbeats, and then the seal is off. It races towards the sea, where the river leads to the ocean, and Merlin’s eyes follow her until she’s gone from sight. 

The moment feels too big for him to comprehend; there are a thousand stars exploding in his chest. When he turns to Arthur’s, the movement sends a tear spilling down his cheek. 

He takes Arthur’s hand. His throat is hoarse when he speaks. “A strange thing. To be free.”

“A strange thing,” Arthur echoes softly. 

He squeezes Merlin’s hand and they sit and listen to the river. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's probably just late and i'm sleep deprived, but i am so proud of this story. i hope you all enjoyed it. as usual this chapter went in a million directions that i hadn't planned, but what's new. side note - sex scene was never meant to happen. and then i wrote it and was like?? r they emotionally invested enough for this? r they? and had to write in a scene where they're talk some more so it didn't feel rushed. 
> 
> side side note - i love domestic merthur SO MUCH and i wanted to so much more in here, but it just wouldn't fit and they weren't there yet. someday i will write a fic where merthur are together and the knights know and merlin sits in arthur's lap in front of them. like. that's the dream fellas 
> 
> the selkie is living happy and free with her seal pals and she definitely doesn't forget and definitely saves merlin one day, somehow. idk how. but she does. i wanted to write a hundred scenes of arthur and merlin discovering magical creatures but that's for another fic
> 
> there are lots of legends about selkies, which you can read for yourself. the fun thing about writing merlin fic is you can just use it as an excuse to go down the wikipedia rabbit hole. selkies are particularly prominent in scottish and irish mythology. 
> 
> i would love love to hear how people felt about this chapter! thank you so much for every comment and kudos on this, it means so much and i really appreciate it 
> 
> i do plan to write more for these too, i am torn between more canon era fics and a modern day fic. who knows. all the abandoned fics in my google drive are laughing at me as i write that. I really need to write a fic with mordred In at some point. His character was so interesting - season five was in general, obviously super painful but some of the best writing I think - and I have a soft spot for pre murder mordred. I really need to write him eventually.
> 
> anyway i hope people enjoyed this. thank you for getting through my ramblings on how arthur pendragon is not stupid and merlin deserves the world

**Author's Note:**

> I hope people liked this! I still feel like I am finding my footing with this one, so I am hoping to find my way a bit more with the next chapter.
> 
> Some of this chapter was so hard to write, some of it was really easy. I can’t write Gwen at all 😂 but oh well. I’m looking forward to next chapter where we can see some more of Arthur.
> 
> Also, you ever watch Merlin and like, he and Arthur have so many really intimate moments? Pretty much all the talks they have before bed when they’re on missions, or that talk by the campfire in season four (I think??) that’s what I tried to include my fics I just think sometimes they are so open with each other and you think about how long they’ve now each other and just siiigh 
> 
> Comments mean everything??? Hearing people’s thoughts is always nice 😊 but no pressure lol 
> 
> chapter two will be earning that kidnapping tag


End file.
